One Night in the King's Chambers
by Daughter Of The Revolution
Summary: Alfred and Arthur are a peasant couple that struggle through life just to make ends meet. When the king offers to give them money for a request the two jump to the chance to please. When said request turns out to be asked that Alfred spend a night with him, is this moment of chance really a blessing? Side USUK, main RusAme. LONGSHOT


**DOTR** **: Hey, guys. Well, sorry for the outrageously long oneshot. Yes, I know I could have broken it up, but I felt it would botch its pace if I did, so here it is in full. Haha, this was sort of inspired by the movie, Indecent Proposal. Yep, got RusAme on the brain 24/7. It's a bad addiction. ;) Well, enjoy!**

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Life had never been easy for the either of them. Both came from poor families, both worked at jobs that paid them barely enough money to live where they were. They lived on the outskirts of the main city in what really was just a simple rickety shack. It took Alfred hours to walk to work which meant he had to get up early and come home late. They couldn't even afford a measly service animal; they were that poor. Alfred really wished they could save up for a horse to either be a mode of transportation or a labor animal so they could plow bigger fields of produce in their garden.

Arthur worked every weekend, going into the city to sell items he made, but his journey was less than taxing as it was on his husband. Alfred worked at the shipyard: cargo. He loaded, unloaded, roped, all menial labor. He was exhausted when he came home and usually just went straight to bed.

Due to this stressful schedule the two spouses have been slowly drifting apart. They still loved each other as much as they had on their wedding day, but their intimacy levels began waning. Gentle touches and caresses faded, and kisses were nothing but a goodbye and greeting now. It was hard on them both and the two of them longed for the day when chance would give them some sort of break in their managed chaos to cling to each other again and lay in bed the entire day.

No such luck, however.

One evening, when Alfred was walking home from work he sat himself down near a tree beside the road for a moment. His shoes were nearly worn and thinking about paying a cobbler for another pair stressed the young man out more so than the day's hefty work. It was already late into the night, but Alfred was glad for the cooler weather of the evening. The days were blistering and Alfred's burns began fading into tans, which was quite an unattractive trait in this kingdom.

With a sigh, Alfred looked up at the round moon and the cloudless night. He smiled, managing even that. He dreaded the winter months to come and the treks he'd have to make to and from home in those chilling winds and icy snow. So, instead, Alfred looked on the positivity of his day and made his heart swell. He had such a boost of energy he stood up and began jogging down the road. He knew he was close to home and that fact excited him more. This rejuvenated energy would indeed allow him to burst in his home and pick his husband up in his arms to kiss his breath away—he bet Arthur didn't even remember Alfred could do such a thing, well, tonight Alfred would make sure he'd never forget.

In Alfred's high thoughts he almost forgot to watch himself on the road. A carriage came down the dirt road and nearly ran the man over. Alfred jumped out of the way and observed the transportation off. It was a fancy thing, and looked royal. Alfred rose a brow, wondering what anything in and of royalty was doing all the way out in the peasant sector.

Alfred brushed it off, but decided to keep his catch in mind to tell Arthur. The man hardly left the home but on weekends and did love hearing Alfred tell him of his day.

Once Alfred made it to his home he smiled at the tiny little thing. Yes, it may be small, and it may be unstable, but with smoke coming out of the small chimney and the light of a flickering candle flashing in the single window, Alfred took pride in the home, because it was his and Arthur's.

"I'm home!" Alfred announced, knowing that his husband would be surprised of the energy in his arrival. Alfred swung the door open and flashed the biggest grin before politely shutting the door.

There was Arthur, sitting at the table with a cup of tea made, his eyes scanning over a piece of parchment he was reading—that was another thing Alfred enjoyed about Arthur; he could read. Alfred couldn't, but he loved when Arthur read him stories; simply was the best.

Pulling out a chair, Alfred sat down and looked at his husband. He was surprised Arthur hadn't looked at him yet, not noticed his chirpier attitude this evening.

"Hey, bet you can't guess what I just saw today . . ." Alfred blinked. Arthur spared not even a glance toward him. "I saw a royal carriage on the road during my walk home. Can you believe that?"

"I can actually," Arthur finally spoke, his eyes not turning from the letters he read.

"Really?" Alfred pursed his lips and leaned down so that his chin rested on his folded arms. "What do you suppose they were doing all the way out here, huh?" The two of them loved to brainstorm, was a very fun thing to do between themselves, and even if Alfred was less than educated than Arthur he was still quite witty in his own sense.

Finally, Arthur looked at him. Immediately Alfred noticed the odd look in his eye. He looked upset, but more so he looked torn. Sliding the paper toward Alfred was another odd thing Arthur did. The man knew he couldn't read.

"What?" Alfred looked at the parchment. It was clean and nice, and the penmanship looked superb, but Alfred knew it wasn't his husband's writing.

"For you," Arthur said, his eyes then glancing away. He pulled his fingers from the paper the moment he slid it toward Alfred as if the thing was poisonous.

"What does it say?" Alfred questioned the moment he picked it up and examined it.

"It's a letter . . . from the king himself," Arthur said.

Alfred's eyes widened. So . . . then that meant the carriage had stopped here. Man! And Alfred had just missed it!

"Why is the king writing to us?" Alfred questioned, looking back down at the squiggled lines, wondering if a courtier wrote it or if Alfred was beholding the king's own hand himself.

"Not us . . . you," Arthur corrected.

Alfred sighed. "Come on, Arthur, you know I can't read. What does it say?"

"He's offering to pay a handsome sum for your services," Arthur recited, his eyes glancing back over toward the letter.

"Like an employer?" Alfred would love that. If he could quit the docks and work at the palace then that'd be amazing. "Well, what does he want me to do?"

Arthur was silent. He wasn't saying a word, and his disrupted persona didn't go unnoticed by his spouse. Alfred frowned and scooted his chair closer toward his husband's.

"Well, what?" Alfred asked.

"He wants you to spend one night with him." Arthur said it quite fast that Alfred almost lost comprehension of the statement, but after a while the words and their meaning began to sink into Alfred.

"What?" Alfred thought he might have heard wrong, but he knew he hadn't.

"Hhh, dammit!" Arthur reached out and snatched the paper into his hands again, his eyes skimming over the proposal. "The king's favorite lover just passed away from an accident dealing with a mishap with a wagon. The king is in need of someone else to warm his bed, what else does that mean, Alfred?!" Arthur looked absolutely livid. While Alfred used to enjoy staring into those emerald eyes they now stared him down into intimidation and the younger had to look away.

There was another silence to quell the both of them before Alfred muttered, "Why me? I'm not of noble class or royal blood. I work at the docks all day and . . . does he even know what I look like?" Alfred wouldn't think himself at all pleasing to nobility, much less the king himself.

"Your name is clearly mentioned," Arthur said, pointing toward the written name. "How his majesty's decision came about is beyond me . . . but . . ." Arthur glanced down, his eyes taking in the written number of the set price the king agreed he would be willing to pay just so he could spend the night with Alfred. "He's willing to pay up quite a bit . . ." Arthur chuckled quite sadly. "In fact, the amount is no doubt more than we could ever make in our lives combined."

"No," Alfred flat out refused. His upset got to him, not over the letter, but over Arthur's mulling thoughts actually thinking about this proposition.

"Alfred," Arthur sighed, staying seated as Alfred stood himself up and began pacing the small living room of theirs, right next to the hearth. "I know it sounds like a request too much."

"And it is," Alfred agreed. He looked at Arthur and let him see all of the love he had for him— _still_ had for him—in his eyes. "I love you too much to tarnish your name, Arthur, you know that."

The smaller man's cheeks tinted a lovely shade. A short smile graced his lips at the compliment and devotion, but too quickly his frown returned and he looked at Alfred with almost pleading eyes. "Alfred, even if I were to grant you this, would you?"

"Why would you do that?" Alfred asked. Now he looked to be the one hurt and heartbroken. "Don't you care about me?"

"Of course I do!" Arthur declared, standing up so fast that the chair he had been seated in fell down on its back. The man then marched up to his husband and pressed his hands against the sides of his face, making him look at him. "That is why I want you to do this. I don't like it . . . of course not . . . but don't you see, Alfred? The finances will help us live just a little better. I want that . . . for you."

Alfred's frown did not recede. Instead he pulled his face away from Arthur and looked away. He didn't like the idea of laying in another man's bed. Arthur was all he knew and it was because he loved him and him only. Alfred doubted another man's touch could arouse him as much as Arthur's. It just wouldn't work.

"I can't," Alfred finally said. He turned his face back to Arthur and looked at him with a sigh. "I can't, Arthur. I don't care if he's the king."

"Alright." Arthur's lips pursed and he nodded. He looked quite upset. "Then we'll continue living here in this shithole while you work from sunup to sundown and we never get a chance to see each other. We'll both live the remainder of our days with asshole neighbors who steal what little we have and then when one of us dies, we lose everything just to find the funds to give the dead a proper burial. I like that, Alfred. I've dreamed of a life like that ever since I was little!"

The sarcasm bit, but Alfred bit back. "Then what did you dream of? Did you dream of wedding a man you so proclaimed you loved and would do anything for you only to wish him off to the richest man's bed? What kind of fealty is that, Arthur?"

"I don't want this any more than you," Arthur said, blinking away tears. "But it is hard not seeing you . . . it is hard living here . . . and it is hard imagining what will happen if one of us . . ." The smaller man slapped a hand to his mouth, the images of such a vague future disturbing him too much.

Alfred was quick by his side, his hands coming up and rubbing those trembling shoulders. "Shh, shh, don't cry, Arthur." He smiled for him when he turned his spouse around and lifted his jaw. "You know I can't stand it."

"I know," Arthur sniffled. "But I just feel that we'd regret not taking the offer. I don't like it either, Alfred, but what other option do we have?"

None. They had no other option.

Alfred held his husband while he shuddered against him, but even in moments like these Arthur would pull away and act the mature elder that he was, straightening his coat, stance, and wiping the leakage from his nose and eyes. "They want an answer by tomorrow, Alfred."

Alfred sighed. "They're returning?"

"Of course," Arthur replied. "Since you were not here they departed." Green eyes then glanced toward the parchment still lain out on their small table. "The services are expected by the morrow's evening. Upon sunrise you are promised to return along with the cited payment."

They really were in a predicament, weren't they? But, what other poor family could ever say they got a chance to confirm a given decision like this?

"Are . . ." Alfred couldn't look at Arthur any longer, already feeling as if he's betrayed his spouse whom he swore before God to remain faithful to. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning his weight on both feet in turn uncomfortably. "I'm certain this is not what I want."

Alfred turned, scooting closer toward the table to reach out and touch the seemingly binding parchment. His fingertips stopped before pressing down on the white and golden page, fearing that one simple touch would taint him and his goodliness to his husband.

"Will this make you happy?" That was all Alfred really wanted to know, and it had been the only thing he had striven for since the day he first set eyes upon the beautiful man.

The silence worried Alfred and had him turning toward Arthur. When he looked at him he noticed a soft gentle smile on his lips. Those green eyes of his weren't as frightened in that moment, not when they gazed so lovingly at him.

"If you are happy . . . then I will be," Arthur answered. He then nodded toward the parchment. "And, Alfred . . . I want you to have everything. I . . ." There was a near defeated sigh that left Arthur's lips. "I know you'll be happy once the stress from this wretched life is gone from us. You'll see."

Alfred said nothing. He simply reached out, held his hand palm up in silent motion for his husband. Arthur followed the quiet pull and placed his hand into Alfred's, letting his larger husband pull him into his arms and hold him close against his body. They both sighed at being so close, feeling the other's body warmth, and hearing the slow rhythm of their heartbeats pounding against their sternums.

"If this will really make you happy, then . . ." Alfred had opened his mouth, trying to say the words he knew how to. He seemed to choke on them for but a second before catching his bearings and nodding, leaning his head down and pressing his forehead to Arthur's. "Then I will do this, for you, remember that, Arthur."

The smaller man met Alfred's gaze and offered a short, bittersweet smile. He nodded and then laid his head against Alfred's shoulder.

It was hard getting to sleep that night, but that didn't make Alfred hold his husband any less tighter to himself in their low bed. His mind was running a million miles a second, fearing the sunrise and the new day coming.

He didn't want to, Alfred really didn't want to do this. He continually tried to come up with any alternative to making his husband happy other than this. There was nothing that could come to mind, however. Arthur said he wanted him happy, and he figured a better financial life would make Alfred happy.

Would it? Alfred contemplated that at the moment. He envisioned the home of his dreams; countless rooms to house guests, a pantry so large and full of goods and sweets, a garden with a fun hedge maze in the back, oh! And a fountain, one so big you could swim and fish in it! And of course they'd have animals, lots and lots of animals. Alfred loved animals and would much rather take care of them than work all day loading and unloading ships. A place like that would be nice, but only if he could come into it every day and see Arthur smiling at him, loving him just as much as Alfred loved him. That was all Alfred really wanted.

All he could ever want.

And so Alfred tried to rest on the knowledge that Arthur would be happy and well taken care of with the coins they were to be given—with what Alfred was to be given for his services. Services . . .

The thought alone of spending the night in the bed of stranger woke Alfred up in the middle of the night, a cold sweat soaking his skin damp. His arms seemed to cling even tighter to Arthur, pressing his face down against his shoulder just to feel him and to make sure he was in his arms. His heart hammered in his chest with unease and now, even holding onto the love of his life wasn't helping settle his doubting spirit.

Alfred wasn't a political man. He didn't keep up with the goings-on in their kingdom, Arthur did because Arthur read and spoke with good city folk when he journeyed into the capital. Many of Alfred's crewmates a the docks gossiped about as well, but Alfred mostly minded his own business and focused solely on his set tasks for the day and so not much went into his ears that he comprehended that wasn't work related.

This lack of knowledge made Alfred anxious. He didn't know the king. He didn't know how old this man was, how tall or small, if he treated his servants fairly or unjustly, or if he was even good on his word. Oh God, what if he wasn't?!

All of these thoughts clashing against each other in his mind turned Alfred to let go of Arthur and sit up, his palm pressing against his chest to try to calm his raging heart and his heaving breaths. Turning his gaze toward his husband he understood the man to be asleep, unaware of his young spouse's fright in the duty he promised to him.

The thoughts of backing out on this deal came quickly, but over and over they were shot down for saving his own good word. He had told Arthur he would and if there was one person he would not lie to, it was his spouse. Indeed it was just one night and Alfred shouldn't have anything to fear.

If the King was old then he'd tire quickly and possibly return Alfred home quicker, if he was a mean soul, well, Alfred would heal from whatever abuse he'd thrust upon him. At least Alfred would have the coins promised and he could show them to Arthur and give him the life he had always deserved.

Alfred could do this. He could rouse a confidence inside him that he didn't need to cling to his husband like a frightened child would their stuffed animal. He didn't need to let his paranoia of the unknown keep him awake.

No, he could think positively. This would be Alfred's very first time going to the castle. Alfred's first time seeing the higher class of society. Alfred's first time seeing and meeting the king of their prosperous kingdom. Alfred's first time . . .

Alfred's first time.

This would be Alfred's first time!

Just as he about laid himself back down on his flat pillow, Alfred's body went rigid and that chilling sweat swept over his form again. He had been married to Arthur for a while now, going on seven years. But in all that time, never once had Arthur rolled on top of him and controlled their lovemaking. Arthur's never penetrated him.

Oh God!

Like hell Alfred would let the king have his virginity! Alfred turned his gaze toward his slumbering spouse. He looked so peaceful that Alfred didn't want to rouse him, but the younger felt it pertinent that Arthur be given this gift before some stranger took it.

Alfred wanted Arthur to penetrate him. The desire in bed had waned from weariness on both their parts and neither had gotten around to attempting to see to this. When they did carry enough energy to expel during their bedroom passion, it was not wasted on something new and attempted, only on the usual and already skilled. No, this wasn't right. Alfred couldn't let this happen.

His desire to give himself, all of himself to his husband first had Alfred leaning over Arthur, pressing a kiss down upon his cheek, softly just to see if he stirred, but he hadn't and so he placed another, this one closer to his jaw and then further down. His kisses seemed to loosen Arthur's form, already he could feel the man moving against him, subconsciously arching against him and his touches.

"Mmm, A-Alfred, what—?" The words were silenced with a kiss, one that Arthur had accepted the more Alfred poured his passion into it.

Hands slid up and then arms wrapped around Alfred's neck while he worked his husband to return the love he was giving. When Arthur pressed back into the kiss and sighed into his mouth, Alfred then brought his hands down and rubbed up and down the older's sides. Arthur had moaned at the movement, but his pleasant sighs were cut short when Alfred had pulled him closer, flipping them around until he was shifted directly under the smaller man.

With their kiss broken, Arthur held his gapping surprise on his face. "Alfred, what are you doing?" But Alfred only answered his question by rolling his hips into Arthur's pelvis, letting the older understand the submissive position he had placed himself into.

"Arthur, please," Alfred begged, pressing his groin into Arthur's while he spread his thighs and rubbed them against Arthur's hips. He could see by the way Arthur's gaze turned down toward the sight of him spread underneath him that the man knew of the suggestion in Alfred's tone and position.

But of course Arthur ruined his night again for the second time that day since revealing that invitation to him. He sighed, simply rolled his way off of Alfred and laid on his side, facing away from Alfred. "You need to go to sleep, Alfred. You'll need your rest." That was Arthur's excuse that left Alfred gapping in the shock of rejection. How could Arthur deny Alfred this? Sure it had been ages ago when the smaller man had brought up different roles in bed, but Alfred was certain he remembered and still desired to enter him.

"But . . . Arthur." Alfred reached out again, leaning over the man who had his eyes clenched tightly shut. "Arthur, I want this. Please, please do this for me." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the man's neck, but was immediately shaken away with a roll of Arthur's shoulder.

"No, Alfred," Arthur once again denied.

The panic from before was definitely returning and the utter dread that Arthur would never mount him hurt Alfred. He knew his husband wouldn't want him after he's been with another, he just knew it.

"Don't you . . . don't you want this?" Alfred's fingers dug into the skin on Arthur's slim arms. He rubbed the appendages and then reached down to grasp his love's hand, bringing it up to kiss those worn knuckles. "Arthur." Yes, Alfred knew he could whine like a five-year-old child, but it seemed to be the only way to get Arthur to look at him and respond to him.

And Arthur turned his face toward him, looking at him, his gaze hardly understandable after so long from drifting apart. But Alfred looked at him with hope and smiled endearingly at him in hopes to coax him to agree to this. However, when Arthur moved, it wasn't to press Alfred onto his back and roll atop him, no, the older man simply sat up and rubbed his face, his eyes looking off into the darkness of their room.

"I don't know why he picked a married man." Alfred wondered if Arthur was speaking to him and simply rambling to himself. It could be either or without a lock of gaze to address. "But he has his reasons, and I want you to give him reason enough to convince him to respect the promised sum." Arthur rubbed his nose again and simply laid his chin on his raised knees, keeping his gaze locked into the darkness.

Alfred felt his heart sink from this. He understood Arthur's words, but that didn't mean they hurt him any less. The only thing holding his morality together and sense of worth was the mental mantra he continually repeated to himself: this is for Arthur, this is for Arthur, this is for Arthur.

That mantra lulled him to a weary sleep and he started awake at the sound of knocking on the door. Arthur had been the first to rise from the bed . . . or had he already been up? The bed felt cold with Alfred remaining still, silently defiant. He listened as Arthur dressed himself in proper attire and then moved from their bedside to answer the door.

Alfred could hear the men speaking with Arthur. Their accents were definitely more high class, smooth, attractive, and intelligent. But even with the sounds of their seemingly soothing voices, Alfred didn't want to move, he didn't want to go. Though, even as he resisted he knew in his heart he would forever see his spouse tear up at this missed opportunity, this chance at a happy life—for a price.

And more than anything else . . . Alfred didn't want to see Arthur cry.

So Alfred made up his mind. He accepted the invitation, mentally, and openly to the men awaiting his answer. In that moment the men asked him to come with them right away and spend that very night with the king. Alfred had known, Arthur had told him it would be that evening, but he still felt nervous, feeling as if this was all just too soon. But he prided himself in being a man able to adapt and overcome and so with that confidence held inside he turned one last time toward his husband and embraced Arthur and kissed his breath away.

"Come back to me safely," Arthur whispered against his lips. Alfred nodded before kissing the man again, one last time. He didn't mean for it to feel so dreadful or to think like this would be the last he'd see of his husband. He would see him the following morning, he was certain of it.

Alfred fought back his reluctance to let go of his husband and followed the king's messenger's lead. He was escorted into the carriage and whisked away. He kept his gaze on his home and Arthur who stood outside and watched them before the forest engulfed them. When Alfred couldn't see his husband anymore he became disheartened so much that the length of the ride into the city had vanished within the blink of an eye.

"We're here, Mr. Jones. If you would follow me." Alfred sat up and looked around. Indeed they were. Alfred marveled at where the carriage was parked, inside the palace walls. Alfred's never even seen the inside of the gates and he knew the interior of the home would be even more grand. So, he let his amazement distract him from the rising ache in his gut from leaving Arthur—from feeling as if he was betraying his faithful vows to him.

It was such an interesting thing as he was led inside. Alfred thought for certain that the extravagant people would take note of him, glare at him, watch him like the out of place individual he was, but the servants—dressed nearly as finely as the lords and ladies abroad—continued their way and the nobles carried on their conversations, not so much as taking a glance his way. Perhaps it was because they were used to this, used to looking up at the common folk, and here Alfred was even right under the common folk.

Alfred could never bring himself to hate them for acting the way they did. It must be nice living with so much security and confidence. It was something every class under them strived for, and peasants like himself dreamed of. The thoughts like these led Alfred to wonder if he and Arthur could imitate a life like these high-end persons after . . .

"Mr. Jones?"

Alfred snapped out of his daydream, now realizing he had stopped in the hall just to glance through windows and rooms to quell his curiosity of these people and their expensive lifestyles. He turned toward the servant leading him and blushed, muttering an apology while he skipped up toward him and proceeded in the right direction.

Alfred kept his eyes on the passing people still and the décor around them, of the chandeliers and the marbled floor and the paintings and tapestry and decorations seated upon stands and tables. Even in Alfred's dreams, he couldn't have imagined a place so well-endowed with lavish riches like this. The palace was a view in itself from afar, closer and it was breathtaking, but inside . . . oh, Alfred had no words to describe how he felt.

Eventually, the twists and turns of the royal hallway came to an end and Alfred was led into a room. His curiosity was high and he eagerly entered without so much thought. It wasn't until the servant neglected to enter with him and instead reached in and took hold of the doors to shut them behind Alfred that the peasant began wondering if . . . if this was _it_.

The room certainly didn't look like a bedroom. Well, there was a small bed off to the side, but in the center there was a platform with a circle of mirrors and near that a table and stool. The room was decent in size, definitely bigger than Alfred's own home, but the walls seemed lined with cabinets and smaller doors like a closet, or closets, of sorts. If Alfred was given permission he'd eagerly explore the entire expanse of the room, but he remained still and fidgeted to himself and his thoughts.

He didn't have to wait long before he was joined by another soul. In came—by the dress—another servant. He had a nice smile on him while his eyes held much more kindness shown than the single-way gazes of the nobles from earlier. He was even meeting Alfred's gaze unlike the previous servants he had dealt with.

"Greetings, my name is Toris of the Laurinaitis house. I am to be your caretaker."

Alfred rose a brow. He glanced around for a moment before understanding that it was just he and this servant before him in this room. "Might I ask why?"

Toris chuckled, not afraid to come closer and place his white-gloved hands upon Alfred's dirty skin and faded clothing. Immediately he began tugging on the peasant's clothing. "You think yourself fit to go before a king, _our_ king?" he chuckled again while he managed to pull Alfred's vest off of him despite the taller man's silent protest. "You have much to learn, Mr. Jones."

"I don't understand why I'm being forced to intake so much," Alfred mentioned while suddenly snatching his vest out of Toris's hands and holding it close. Arthur made him this vest and he didn't want someone ruining it. "I . . ." Alfred stopped his ramble, not certain if he should spill too much detail on the reason why he was there. Did this servant know? Was the king desiring relations with a commoner—a peasant—even permissible? "I just don't see the reason to change."

"It is the king's orders," Toris then stated.

Oh. Well, if the King so said so.

Alfred nodded, fighting with his will to move his arms and hand his vest back to the servant. "Alright." He took in a sharp breath when he watched Toris fully take up the dark blue vest. "Please, take care of that."

Toris looked at the simple article of clothing comparing its value for a moment. The piece of fabric wasn't worth anything. Even Toris' own attire worn by all the castle workers bore silks and golden fabric and even precious gems, and yet Alfred cherished something so bland. But he nodded and simply turned to lay it down upon a side table, then coming up and reaching to take the rest of his clothing.

Alfred would gladly disrobe himself, but this servant was intent on keeping his hands upon him, pulling at sleeve and pant leg alike. Alfred let out a guttural growl of sorts in an earnest attempt to get the man to stop, but he continued to push his way onto the peasant until the last straw was snapped when his fingers slipped into the hem of his undergarment.

"Alright, alright!" Alfred nearly tumbled over himself while he backed out of his pants and tossed his shirt off fully, clad now in nothing but his undergarments. His cheeks dusted a light pink while this servant continually looked at him without a concern for privacy whatsoever. What was he, the royal dresser?! "That's fine. I'm near bare enough. Just dress me in what you want."

"Oh, no, no, you are meant to bathe." Toris motioned toward the tub off to the side. It was a large thing, shelves of bottles surrounded it as well as a nearby rack full of towels and soft silken robes. Enticing enough as it looked, Alfred didn't even see the reason to suddenly strip to bathe. Why, he hadn't taken a bath in . . . it's been a really long time.

Before Alfred could come up with a retort the servant had clapped his hands twice. From the other side of the room came in more servants, all dressed similar, all holding bowls of water. One by one they came to the tub and began pouring in the steaming liquid and once their job was done they placed the silver bowls onto a shelf and awaited another order.

Great, they were staying.

"Come, Mr. Jones," Toris urged.

Was there really no other way around this? Alfred sighed. Fine. Fine, they win. They always win.

Alfred scooted over toward the tub, eyeing the servants all awaiting to attend. He didn't feel like striping completely nude before them, but what other choice did he have? So, as quickly as he could, he shoved his undergarments down and jumped into the tub.

That probably wasn't his best idea.

"AH! SHIT! That's hot!" Just as Alfred sought to submerge himself to hide his decency from the eyes of the standing servants, he was quick to jump up, skin all red from the temperature of the waters, and attempt to jump out.

"No, Mr. Jones, you must remain!" There was definitely a struggle to get Alfred to remain in the tub and thanks to one of the servants for throwing a bottle of fragranced oil onto him, the peasant slipped, clipped his chin on the side of the tub. He was left dazed, blinking out the bright spots in his vision while the servants finally managed to get better grips upon him and pull him back into the waters.

In time Alfred grew used to the hot waters. He was still as red as a lobster though. And the servants constantly scooped and poured water onto him, trying to drown him it seems.

Their hands were everywhere, lathering him with oils and rubbing him with bubbling scrubs. When such a daunting task was over Alfred about praised God, but he was too rushed out of the waters into shaking towels to even begin to thank the heavens. And even after that, after being wrapped in the softest silk robe he was pulled to the side and sat on a stool where a servant approached him with sharp objects.

Alfred attempted to pull away when the man grasped his chin, but it was observational Toris who noted his movement. "Ah, Mr. Jones. Please do not attempt to move. Our barber may have a steady hand but even he is prone to misplacing eyes from their sockets."

Alfred's wide blue eyes took in the large scissors in the man's hands, but held still as was told. So what if his hair was a little long? As long as it was tied behind his ears he didn't have a problem with it. However, in Alfred's observation of the nobility he noticed how the men fancied shorter hair styles. And once the barber was done clipping his locks he then shaved away the stubble he had worked so hard to grow—wasn't his fault his baby-face wouldn't allow for much facial hair.

After all of this was done, Alfred's face was smothered with more lotion and oil before a woman approached him and flattened his brows, having her way even with his tender eyebrow hairs. If Alfred thought the bathing was the hardest part, he about screamed bloody murder during this process and indeed had to have three male servants hold him down while the woman plucked and plucked.

Alfred had been in tears by the end of it all and when she backed away so too did the bracing servants. He rubbed the liquid out of his eyes as fast as he could and then rubbed at the irritated patches on his brows. Oh, what had she done?

"You are looking much more fitting for court, Mr. Jones." When Alfred heard Toris say this he looked at him, his eyes still red from the previous moisture, but with one inclining motion to turn to the mirror offered by a servant, Alfred did so.

There, in the small handheld mirror was a very handsome upperclassman looking back at Alfred. At first Alfred hadn't recognized the man staring back at him, but when his motions matched his own, it was then he understood and accepted that he was looking at a reflection of himself.

"It is amazing how a simple bath and trim of hair can alter one's appearance for the better," came another remark from Toris. And Alfred couldn't agree with him more.

Jaw loose and lips parted, Alfred brought his hand up, rubbing up his smooth face—that stubble really did make him look more rough than what his skin shown. Slowly, his fingers slid up over neatly trimmed bangs and evenly cropped locks.

Alfred's hair felt soft, the strands fell through his fingers almost like water cascading down. Running his hands through his hair it sparkled in the lighting of the room, glittering just as golden as the décor etched into his surroundings. He'd gone so long without care, letting his hair collect grime, dirt, and grease that he had never . . .

The vivid colors really did complement his eyes. They were bright. Alfred thought it was just the lighting, but somehow, the more he gazed at himself and those azure irises he really did believe they seemed to glow. The aspect made him twitch a smile . . . it was no wonder Arthur continually spouted his love for the color of his eyes.

"We must continue if we are to have you ready by this evening, Mr. Jones."

The call hadn't shaken Alfred out of his stare. He simply nodded his head in agreement, just not able to take his eyes off of himself, still so surprised that someone like that once lay unnoticed and hidden. "Right, right."

Alfred was motioned toward the platform where he was then told to strip again. Alfred groaned, but did so. This time he was measured to be properly fitted. Once they were off to find him suitable clothing he wrapped the robe back around himself and simply watched the servants work.

He didn't understand the point in dressing him in a fully layered suit. Even the undergarments looked like something he'd never be able to afford in his lifetime. They really liked their silk here, but Alfred wasn't one complaining, it felt nice on his skin. But when the other layers came, the vest and waistcoat, cuffs, collar, stockings, ties, broaches—they even put a damn shoulder cloak and sash on him to serve the in-style purpose.

As Alfred viewed himself in each angled mirror he continued slipping down to the assumption that he was dreaming because certainly the person who was looking back at him was not Alfred F. Jones. No, that boy was born dirt poor and would die dirt poor. This . . . this had to be some dreamt fantasy.

Alfred ran his hands up the intricately designed coat he was dressed in, his fingers slipped over gem encrusted button while sliding over expensively dyed silken sash. This was certainly too much. He turned and noticed Toris handing him properly fitting footwear—the kind Alfred would be mugged for if he walked down a lower level alley with these things—and a pair of clean white gloves to finish off his outfit.

Alfred placed on his shoes but neglected to wear the neatly pressed gloves. He held them in his grasp, but wearing them would feel strange. However, the moment he was led out, all his hands could do was cling to those gloves, rolling the fabric in his grasp out of sheer nervousness as he was led out into once passed public wings.

The high class of society stood about, chatting with one another in whatever conversations were in at court. Alfred simply kept to himself and tried to pull himself from any scene, opting to remain in a silent corner. However, his heart sunk when he was left alone for a moment by the servants.

Alfred had wanted to follow them, but he had been given strict orders to remain where he was. So his wandering eyes took in the place more, and notably of the people about dilly dallying. They were all dressed so nice, and held themselves very finely. After some time alone Alfred humored himself with mimicking their stances and poses. He chuckled at it all, but felt somewhat akin to them then in his own mind while his hands held onto his coat in the same way as the men did, and his shoes pointed at the right angles.

In his wait and noticing the time it took, Alfred felt a boldness come over him and decided to walk across the room. He executed movement of how he watched the nobles go about, and was pleased with himself when he made it all the wall across the large gathering room. He snickered to himself, for a moment wondering if no one paid him mind because he fit in so well.

But he soon discovered that it certainly wasn't only garb and the way one walked that revealed their nobility. There were other defining factors that Alfred was certain he lacked.

"You must forgive me, but I have been observing you since you entered the room." Alfred blinked, turning himself to find he was approached by an older noble, quite the chubby one too. But his eyes sparkled with curiosity, pupils scanning Alfred from head to toe. He's never had such an examination before in his life. "Apologies again, but I have been debating in my mind on which house you hail from."

"House?" Alfred mumbled the question out.

"Or, possibly which kingdom," the man rambled on. It wasn't of annoyance to Alfred, not at all. He liked the way their accents sounded, and so they could speak nonsense to him all they wanted. "Might I guess you a guest of the king's from the south?"

"Oh, Filipov, I believe this young man to come from the western kingdoms. He certainly has the build." Another man joined in and suddenly Alfred was wishing to pull himself away from the matter. He knew for certain he'd get in trouble if they found out he was a peasant. The palace had no place for his kind whatsoever.

"Yes, Pajari, but I was more so taken by the tint of his skin," Mr. Filipov muttered to his acquaintance.

Now, both eyes were on Alfred, examining him. Alfred didn't wish to keep their time and so politely bowed, as he had seen others do and spoke as clearly as he could, saying, "I'm from neither, fine gentlemen."

He certainly hadn't expected the bursts of laughter from either of them. It confused Alfred, and the men quickly informed him of the humor they found.

"You sound so funny," they explained.

Oh, so it was his accent. No, of course the way he said his words would be noticed. He couldn't speak as well as them. Wasn't trained to.

There certainly were many attributes that differed between their classes.

Luckily, the servants returned and quickly ushered him away before he had humiliated himself further. Toris offered an apologetic smile to him as he led him down another hall.

"You needn't speak to anyone here. You are not meant to engage the nobility in conversation."

No, of course that wasn't the meaning for Alfred's invitation here. He knew it. He needn't be reminded.

He decided to pull himself from impending thoughts and stick to feeding his curiosity. When he was lead into another room and seated at a table he looked to Toris for answers as well as the next plan of action the servant wished for him.

"You must be hungry," Toris concluded while showing Alfred the variety of food prepared for him, all nestled safely on silver and bronze dishware. "Please, eat as much as you like, I shall return once you are finished."

With that Alfred was left alone. The food looked and smelt delicious, but the room he was seated in was large, easily fitting the long table with numerous chairs. Off to the side Alfred noticed a piano, and loft for an orchestra perhaps while beautiful portraits aligned the walls. Candle stands and various statues nestled between each seat, though Alfred's section was the only alit.

The room was so empty that a clack of his plate echoed, bounced off every corner and came back to him just as loud. Alfred didn't like it, and his appetite did wane. But he was hungry and so ate.

He ate slowly, understanding that there were dishes here from foreign lands, expensive in trade, meant for only the richest of tongues. Alfred found himself bitterly spitting out many food after remembering how he and Arthur lived . . . on simple scraps of food from what they could afford or grow. Arthur's cooking wasn't the best, but Alfred loved him for it anyway and still ate what he made him. His husband would never be able to make these kinds of foods, and maybe never get the chance to taste them.

No. No, Arthur will know this delight.

Alfred reached forward and grabbed a leg of a rare bird, biting into the cooked meat and savoring its unique taste. He then took a handful of berries only grown overseas and shoved them into his mouth. He made sure to try a piece of everything so he could remember the taste and know that soon enough his husband would have the chance to taste the same, to share in Alfred's delight in everything.

Alfred almost stuffed himself sick and after gulping down the offered drink he felt a sense of weariness overcome him. With a sigh, he leaned back, making himself comfortable in the cushioned chair. He was finished but Toris was nowhere to be found. He thought for a moment about getting up and going to tell him he was done, but decided to stay put. He knew servants had a sixth sense on when to retrieve their wards and so he waited for him. Of course he waited for as long as he could until he dozed off.

When Alfred came to he had discovered he'd been moved. He didn't know how and didn't ask any questions—not that there was anyone around to inquire a question of. The main thing he noticed was that the day was darkening and he had been nestled in a decently sized room with a bed, fireplace, and other furniture. He was not placed on the bed, actually on the sofa, but the fire was lit and warmed him substantially, tempting him to drift back to sleep. He was after all quite tired and so very comfortable.

Right when Alfred began to nod off again, mesmerized by the dance of flames before him and settled by the weight in his belly, a light rapping was noted. He perked his head up and turned, watching as none other than Toris pushed the door to the room open.

"Mr. Jones?" When the servant's eyes landed on Alfred's conscious form he offered him a gentle smile. "Oh, good, you are awake. I trust you as well rested?"

Alfred let out a yawn but nodded anyways. He could probably use a few more hours but he's ran on less before.

"Wonderful. Now, if you would follow me?" He pulled the door open wider, signaling Alfred to exit the room.

When Alfred stood up and straightened his clothing he wondered if it was time. The hour seemed late and so he only figured. But, unfortunately he was led into yet _another_ room to be attended to.

"What now?" Alfred asked with a hard sigh.

"We'll help you down dress for the evening," Toris informed, motioning toward the waiting servants.

Brows crashed in confusion and thumbs hooked into pocket sockets. "Then what was the point of dressing me in this?!"

"When in the presence of royalty, one is expected to dress their finest," Toris explained.

"I never went before the king," Alfred so explained.

"The king is here, within these walls. His presence is here and so everyone must dress in the off chance they run into him," Toris continued his explanations that answered Alfred's rants. He came up to the man and began popping the buttons off of his coat and unclasping his cloak and sash. "Now that the night has set in and everyone are returning to their rooms, so too are you required to go to your designated place."

Alfred grumbled but let the servants begin disrobing him. He doubted he had a choice.

While he was being taken care of by the servants Toris stepped back and observed the work, taking note of Alfred's glare. "You are going before the king, Mr. Jones, and must dress according to his desire. And he wishes a lighter attire."

Lighter indeed. Alfred was stripped bare until an ornate robe was placed on his shoulders. It was a heavier article, much more richly designed like some sort of ritual garb. The thought of such arose a dread in Alfred, but he allowed them to do as they wish, to tie a sash around his waist, to rub his skin with more scented oils and comb his locks in a proper fashion.

This was it. He was being primed and prepped. When Alfred was ushered one last time, Toris stopped him before the large door. He whisked away the other servants and then came to Alfred and quickly slid his sash off, letting the robe drape open in the middle.

Alfred sputtered and quickly shot his hands out to pull the two folds together to hide himself, but Toris had caught his forearms and held him still, those green eyes of his looking into his eyes with so much seriousness that it took Alfred by surprise.

"You are to remain like this," Toris so said—so _commanded_. "Please our king this night for your country, and your family." A smile was given, but Alfred offered none in return. He could barely even move when Toris pulled on the door, opening it ajar and then pressing the back of his hand against Alfred's spine, pushing him forward. Once Alfred was in enough, the door shut behind him and so had his last chance of changing his mind.

The room was dark, well, darker than the brightly lit rooms and foyers Alfred had passed from earlier. There were low-lit glass lamps nestled on tables and stands, as well as the warmth and light of the nicely carved hearth of the fireplace. The interior glittered with polished overlays of gold and silver, the twinkling of embedded gems were spied etched in to spiraling stands and overhead structures. Golden framed paintings, tapestry, finely carved and crafted pieces sat in their designated section of the room.

Alfred wondered if this was indeed the king's room. He could now grasp the reality of that concept, but yet not toss out the idea that this was only one room in the grand expanse of this palace. What a life the nobility and royalty lived day to day. Alfred was certain he nor his caste would ever be able to conjure up such a fathom, not even in their wildest dreams.

But of course all of this take in had been examined and processed within a moment while Alfred's eyes focused more toward the main area of the room that held the most importance—at least to the peasant. Blue eyes fell toward the bed. It was a canopy. And it held a single occupant lain out atop its mattress and bedsheets.

The moment after Alfred's eyes fell upon the outline of a body his gaze fell down in submission. He had never seen the king before . . . not even on portrait. The closest image he had even taken in was the brief glance of the make of a kingly doll, and even then the doll was created to show more of the ceremonial garb the kings of the kingdom were normally seen in than to depict the current ruling monarch's image.

Alfred hadn't taken anything in, to the man's size, age, nor his appearance. Alfred really was unsure of what to do. He didn't know the proper etiquette and protocol when meeting someone of the higher class. So he remained still and silent.

The silence seemed almost deafening to Alfred. He didn't know how long he had remained standing there without a command. It could have been a second, or an hour. All he had been focused on was the sound of his own pounding heartbeat and chill in his blood.

He might have begun to shake, he wasn't so certain. His mind was not in proper control of his body at that moment, seemingly more intent to fix its focus to measure the seconds ticking by. It had been when Alfred's hands subconsciously pulled at the ends of the robe he wore, bringing the sides together to hide his nudity that he had finally heard the sovereign speak.

"Stop."

Alfred's eyes shot up then, so used to focusing in on the one who spoke the words echoed out. In that moment his eyes properly took in the being lounged on the bed.

It was the king and he . . . was much younger than Alfred had figured. True the man still seemed to hold some years even over Alfred, but the peasant was simply thrown back by the appearance of such a young character. His hair was light and his skin the palest shade Alfred's seen, as such beautiful ivory was graced for the royalty and nobility . . . unlike Alfred's own sun-beaten skin.

The comparison quickly intimidated Alfred, made him feel inadequate and unfitting to even be standing in the same room with the higher bred man. So his hands tightened around the folds of the robe, pulling at the flaps to conceal as much of the unattractive bronzed shade.

"Stop." The command was said again, and once more Alfred's blue eyes turned toward the man. He was leaning up more on the arm he propped himself on. He wasn't smiling but he wasn't frowning. Mostly he looked strained in his gaze and expression for a peek underneath Alfred's robe much to the peasant's confusion.

When amethyst-like eyes met Alfred's uncomprehending gaze, Alfred had noticed a curve in those pale lips. The king shown quite the interest in him and Alfred was just . . . taken aback.

"Take it off," came the next command out of the king's lips. His violet hued eyes sparkled with anxiousness and Alfred could do nothing but gawk at the man and his motions.

The sound of his voice sent shivers down the peasant. It held a deep commanding tone, but light enough pitch so not to completely over dominate the peasant before him. Alfred adored the upper-class accent and could listen to one of those nobles speak on and on the entire day just to let his ears swoon at the way their tongues curled out their words. The king was no different, but the authority in his tone moved Alfred to action and he gripped the ends of his robe, tugging the article off his shoulders.

Alfred stopped for a moment when the sleeves of the robe fell just below his shoulders. A self-conscious doubt had arisen so suddenly within him that he had frozen still. It was the thought of displeasing his king that forced him to move again only a moment later, finally releasing and letting go of the robe, letting it flitter to the floor at his feet.

Alfred's eyes had fallen away from the king, not able to look at the man for any length of time unfortunately. The king was indeed a sight to behold and Alfred knew he could well get lost in his mesmerizing features and build, but the sheer difference between he and Alfred would too easily be seen and the contrast noted . . . and recognized for all the faults that it was. But he remained still, bare before this man who had requested him.

"Come."

Alfred felt his muscles tensing. In a way he had wished the king would have looked him over briefly and found some sort of disgust and sent him on his way. Yes he'd return to the poverty he lived in with his husband, but at least Alfred would leave free of guilt. Now, that feeling so despicable began building when Alfred came closer, gazing at the ground as he put one foot in front of the other.

He stood beside the bed for but a moment before he heard, "Lay down." The sound of the voice was so close and Alfred knew that all he had to do was look up and see he was now only an arm's reach from the very king himself. But Alfred kept his head inclined in submission and did as told, crawling onto the bedsheets and then stretching himself out to lay on his back, eyes staring straight up at the canopy above.

Pupils dilated to focus properly when the king suddenly leaned over him. Alfred was now forced to take in the man in full.

Startled by the sudden close proximity, Alfred about slid away, but a gentle though large hand fell down onto his chest. The strength in it held him still. The king was quite cool to the touch.

Blue eyes glanced down to that hand for a moment, taking in the size before trailing up the arm attached, the torso, the neck, and then the royal's face again. The king was dressed in his own robe, a much nicer pick than what Alfred had been adorned in. A sash bound the folds together while the top parted to reveal a broad chest full of muscle. The king was quite a large man.

"Are you afraid?" The king had asked a question, but none of his features seemed to hold a concern for said question. No, all Alfred saw was the way the king's eyes trailed down Alfred's form, focusing plenty on where he placed his hand, slowly moving his fingers to just feel the warmth of Alfred's body.

Alfred was uncertain if he should answer. He was unsure of what to do when in the presence of a king . . . a king whose bed he was laying in.

"Don't be." Alfred felt small shudders travel up throughout his body. God . . . that accent. He even noticed a small smile forming on those ivory lips. Encouraging in a way as it was comforting. "I will treat you well."

The hand on Alfred's chest slid up slowly until it cupped Alfred's cheek. The press of the hand made sure to bring the peasant's eyes up toward the king just in time for him to intake the descent of the monarch as he leaned in and pressed his lips to Alfred's.

Alfred felt his body jump. He hadn't expected the kiss. He hadn't understood the need for one. But he complied if only to please the king. Because Alfred was doing this all for Arthur.

The kiss was simple; a press of lips held for a moment. When the king retracted his lips and the pressure left Alfred's mouth, the peasant's eyes fluttered open, understanding now that he had closed them when with the King's intimate gesture. Now his blue eyes were looking up again at the monarch, mesmerized by the sight of those vivid violet irises.

Alfred knew it was disrespectful to look the king in the eyes without his permission, but he couldn't help it. His gaze was transfixed, seemingly called from the king's own silent urging.

"You are married?" Alfred blinked at the question. The king was asking this of him? Didn't he know?

To answer him obediently, Alfred nodded. He knew this man was the king and Alfred knew he could rightly do whatever he wanted as his birthright allowed him to, but Alfred wished that . . . that he hadn't reminded him of Arthur right then because . . . because, damn it, now that guilt began bubbling up again.

Yes, Alfred was married. He had been married at the young age of eighteen and had never looked back on that decision in his life. Not even right now. Not even when he was in the bed of another man.

Alfred watched the king nod. His features hid his motives and emotions well, only revealing what Alfred felt was more of a public façade, even though he and Alfred were all alone in this room tonight.

There was a small smile, one he had worn when Alfred had walked in, and one the king seemed to comfortably display. When he nodded he moved his hand again, letting his palm run down along Alfred's neck, often letting his eyes fall down to its path of exploration.

"While I do not request you to see me as your own spouse, I do encourage you to recall the ease in experience so that I may be pleased in this." Right, Alfred remembered this was more business-like than anything else. They had a contract to uphold. It was Alfred's job to please and the King's to discern his rating of the service.

But even still, in all this understanding that the peasant had ingrained into his mind and mentally accepted, Alfred didn't understand why the king so looked him in the eyes again after his statement and worded wish for him to relax if only to properly end it with, "And you as well."

Alfred blinked in confusion. The words were blunt and to the point, but even Alfred continued to second guess the meaning behind each accented word. What did the king mean? Did he really earnestly wish Alfred to enjoy this as well, as if he were a lover to serve him in equal part?

No, he didn't need to, but Alfred understood that this was indeed what the king so inwardly pledged after he leaned down and placed a small kiss to his neck. Alfred's eyes fell closed tightly, his breath catching in his throat while he turned his face and tried to endure, tried to not to think of his husband waiting for him at home . . . knowing exactly what was to become of him that night.

He missed him. Alfred missed Arthur dearly in that moment and regretted not loving the man enough. Not touching him, pulling him into his arms, kissing him, making love to him enough like he should have as his devoted husband. But, maybe, when Alfred received his payment for this then he could spend more time with his spouse. He certainly hoped so.

When the kisses multiplied, traveling down toward Alfred's collarbone and subtly gaining pressure as well as suction, Alfred felt his body move. His legs moved up and down just slightly and his arms began shaking, rising and then falling down onto the bedding. He didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't know if he was allowed to reach up and touch the king in return—not that he wanted to, but he normally held onto his bedmate during sessions like these and it was a hard habit to break.

A little too late to stop his natural instincts, Alfred felt a cold shiver shake his insides when he realized he had reached up with his hands and let his fingers tangle into the fabric of the king's robe. Immediately Alfred wanted to pull away and press his arms flat against the bed again, but his sudden fear of what he'd done froze his limbs and he couldn't move.

His heart skipped a beat when he felt the king shift, moving his arm and then grabbing a hold of Alfred's wrist. The peasant held his breath, fright seething through his pores and making his body shiver. He shouldn't have touched the monarch without permission.

Instead of getting reprimanded or other such means of punishment, Alfred watched as the man moved his hand in his grasp, pulling it up and then placing Alfred's palm against his neck. Alfred gasped in a soft breath. He was touching the king's bare skin. The man had encouraged his touch, those eyes glancing at the peasant once before continuing his way of pressing a kiss to each patch of skin within his sight.

The skin was soft to the touch, pampered since the man had come out of his mother's womb. But even with the softness of it all, Alfred felt this man was far than contempt of strength. The way he moved his hands on Alfred's body, the way he planted his kisses in spots of usual sensitive areas, the assurance let Alfred know this man was in control and knew how to command and how to please.

Alfred's eyes fluttered closed, a sigh leaving his lips while his fingers curled against the king's neck, the tips of his digits pressing against the soft tresses of the king's sandy locks. Louder sighs began leaving the younger's mouth while the king's mouth decided to descend further after lavishing his collarbone to discolor the skin. Pale, cool lips continued planting kisses, slow and very well-placed kisses.

Alfred was no novice to the bedroom, but the way the king showered him with affection had him coming undone quicker than when he and Arthur usually attempt to tangle themselves between the sheets. Alfred firmly believed that no one knew his body better than his husband—after all, Arthur was the only one he's ever known so intimately—but as those large hands ran down his sides, rubbing circles around his hips, as those lips pressed down to the curve of Alfred's pecks, purposely missing hardening nipples, and the way Ivan's cool breath blew over heated skin to make it prickle . . . why . . . this was an experience that Alfred suddenly found himself all too inexperienced over. He felt completely new to the bedroom now . . . to the king's bedroom.

Alfred understood that the king had many lovers and the experience of bedding them all was lived and learned and then enacted on newer bedmates, but the sheer understanding that this man had with Alfred's body so soon in their act of passion had Alfred's knees feeling weak—and he wasn't even standing! The sounds leaving Alfred's mouth put him in a shame over realizing he had never voiced such reactions when his own husband pleased him. Even his body began bending to the king's touches, to the way he kissed him and in so commanded his body to respond all its own.

The king's hands continued to span out, to rub against Alfred's ribs as if memorizing each jutting dip and curve. They seemed so sure, knowing where to touch and when to place pressure. Such experience shook Alfred's core and all he could do was feel the overwhelming skill display upon him.

Alfred could feel those lips pressing shorter kisses around his navel. His body quickly tensed when a short kiss pressed just underneath. He was close. Alfred bit his lip knowing that the king was close to the more intimate places of his body and in so he knew he'd have to give the monarch permission to access.

What surprised Alfred, however, was that the king had not pressed down further. Instead Alfred felt him lean away. A kiss pressing against his thigh had Alfred opening his eyes. He looked down to see the king leaning back and taking hold of Alfred's thigh, caressing the muscle and placing a kiss against the top of the leg before he placed another kiss upon the kneecap. It was in this observation that Alfred noticed the king's stare. He was looking at him.

The moment their gazes met and recognized the other's turn of eyes, the king then leaned forward again. His neck stretched, jaw jutting out while he leaned himself over. Alfred kept his eyes on him, only once glancing down toward the man's chest as his robe slipped, revealing more of his torso. But eyes turned back to the face of the sovereign ruler when he laid directly over him, a hand coming back to press against Alfred's face with a gentleness that seemed almost endearing and yet a firm enough press to hold him still.

Alfred's eyes fluttered when he looked on silently at the king. The man was very handsome and constantly Alfred felt his flush awash over him. Being so close, Alfred's shame hadn't had time to staunch the mentally understood attraction to this man.

The king was closer now, his nose barely touching Alfred's while he remained hovering, as if observing him. Violet eyes continued to glance toward Alfred's lips and the peasant knew what he wanted. He waited for him to take what Alfred had agreed to give, but he seemed more intent to abide by his own time to take what was offered.

The wait built up in Alfred, his lips parting while his breathing began to labor. The moment his warm breath brushed against the king's face, Alfred sucked in a shuddering breath as the man leaned even closer, his mouth coming down to press upon his own. Eye lids fluttered closed in anticipation, Alfred's face already heated so pleasantly. But no kiss had been initiated yet.

"Right here, tonight, under these sheets, you may address me as Ivan."

Alfred had heard these words, but had yet time to comprehend the privilege because of the kiss pressed down upon his lips. The king's other arm wrapped around his back, holding him close, pressing their chests together as he weighed his own lips upon the peasant's mouth. With every kiss Alfred was mentally unraveled by how perfect each just felt. This one was no different.

Alfred inhaled a deep breath through his nostrils while the king's— _Ivan's_ —tongue descended into his mouth, brushing against teeth and gum firstly before reaching out and caressing Alfred's own muscle. The pace and tempo of everything might have also been a contributing factor to Alfred's confusion. While he expected to just lay himself down and spread his legs to be with done with it, this . . . this was just something else entirely.

It was as if the king worshiped Alfred's form, memorizing it because of adoration for its make and build. Alfred knew he was one of the epitomes for imperfection and yet under his majesty's touch and gaze he felt accepted, raised on a high pedestal as if he was worth something. A second thought about the king usually making his chosen lovers feel this way for his own means to please himself did come to Alfred's mind, but even as it did Alfred couldn't help but to leave the concern of the possibility of the king's common bedding techniques if only to revel in the feeling of being treated so highly by one of such nobility and ranking.

Trying to keep his thoughts pure by focusing on his husband was not working for Alfred. Instead he submitted his body to the new touches, to the experience that was being given to him now. His eyes opened and watched in novice fascination as King Ivan pulled his lips away from him and began kissing his shoulders and then his chest on downward.

Alfred felt his body subconsciously roll into the press of those lips, especially when the folds treaded so deviously close to his rising cock. But, no, the king continued his way and moved his lips back down to Alfred's thighs, all at once ignoring the peasant's wakening arousal. Instead the king seemed to work Alfred's body up by just simple kisses, pressing against every inch of skin while his hands rubbed their trails afterwards.

Alfred felt his body shiver violently. He wouldn't verbally admit that he was becoming desperate, but by the feel of his aching arousal—right then Alfred could see how red and swollen he was—he knew the king could understand the predicament he put him in. But the man continued to kiss, and continued to rub, skimming by the most sensitive places to tease other sections on Alfred's body that were discovered to be just as sensitive as other known areas.

The sighs leaving Alfred's mouth turned into moans until the moans formed words of their own. "Ivan." When the name left Alfred's mouth he froze, his limbs straining to rigid. He knew the king had given him permission to say his name, but he didn't think it right or proper.

A hand went to his mouth, Alfred's fingertips pressing against his lips while he felt his skin harden to the tender touches of the king's. He closed his eyes, not wishing to see the kind of disapproving reaction he knew the king would react upon.

But, instead . . .

Alfred's eyes fluttered open when he felt fingers wrap around his wrist and gently pull his hand from his mouth. There was the king, looking down upon him. Alfred really couldn't read the man's eyes. He thought he might have caught an emotion flitter past the amethyst orbs, but he wasn't certain. Not at all.

But then, Alfred's gaze took in the sight of the king pulling his hand to his mouth, pressing a flat kiss against his hand until his grip tightened on it.

"Do not silence yourself," the King commanded.

Alfred heard the tone of authority, but it was carried out with such a gentle and considerate pitch that it left the peasant wondering if this was truly the king of their highly reigning kingdom. But he was. Alfred could feel it in the man's aura and see it in the way he held himself. But by the way he treated a complete stranger in his bed baffled the poor citizen by the second, even as he witnessed the king's lips pull into a small smile while he said, "I must know if I am pleasing you."

Alfred blinked in confusion. It bubbled up inside him so much that his mouth moved and proper and sincere words formed. "My king, it is I who am meant to please you."

King Ivan's smile twitched broader. He then leaned down, resting on an elbow while his body hovered over Alfred, his hand keeping hold of the peasant's hand now pressed against his chest. When the sovereign's breath brushed against Alfred's lips his eyes fluttered shut again in wait, but before mouths pressed against one another, one last thing was said.

"Then let us please each other." The words left the king's lips right before he pressed his lips down upon Alfred's. The peasant's eyes fluttered open but closed soon after from the deepening kiss.

The way King Ivan's lips moved against Alfred left the peasant sighing, moaning into the man's mouth while his body eagerly opened up to his ministrations, letting the monarch situate himself between his thighs and press his chest onto his own. The sensation of that silky robe rubbing against Alfred's heated skin felt amazing, but even as his hands clenched into the fabric, Alfred wondered if he really wanted the feel of the soft fabric on him or the feel of skin on skin.

The question was answered when Alfred's hands bunched the fabric it clasped, pulling on it. The loosened part of the robe began sliding down the king's shoulders. Alfred's eyes took in more of that pale skin. His sight wasn't as satisfying as he would like, but with the monarch so close, Alfred didn't find a single scar on his perfect skin.

He wanted to touch him. Alfred wanted to slide his hands onto those shoulders, wondering if the touch would feel as smooth as when his hands roamed over the silken robe. But in time his hands acted on their own, dipping beneath that robe for a moment before sliding up and pressing against the man's jaw. Yes, his skin felt perfect to the touch, soft and yet firm even against Alfred's calloused hands.

Alfred gasped, his eyes fluttering when he took in the sight of the king turning his head to press a kiss to his wrist. Such devotion to a random bedmate assured in Alfred's mind that this man was a well-experienced lover and he doubted the king would ever leave a partner unsatisfied.

"Oh!" Alfred's body arched, his neck bending along with his spine when he suddenly felt it. The sure grip around his cock was that of the king's and the pressure he applied was just right to get Alfred mewling into the sheets.

There was no pumps, no movement of the grasping hand. Just simple pressure that seemed to remain at a certain degree. It stayed that way before it drove Alfred mad and his will gave in as his hips began bucking. The moment he pressed back into the king's hand, Alfred took note in the tighter pressure applied. And so he did this a few times, bucking only to feel that hand tighten until it all but released.

Alfred's body slunk back into the sheets. He was flushed from head to toe, lips parted with seemingly thirsty pants. Alfred could feel the sweat accumulating on his skin, making the room feel that much cooler on his heated body. Alfred simply couldn't comprehend the touches and the mastery of such.

His eyes fluttered closed again when he watched the king lean back, settling near his legs while his gaze fell as did his hand. Alfred was grasped again, his legs bending and shaking while the king stroked him. He could feel the man's eyes on him, watching, observing, taking note of what made Alfred churn and what made him still.

A sudden burst of guilt erupted again inside Alfred, it moved him until a hand of his flew down and grasped onto the king's which held him in command. The movement halted and it seemed the world stilled for a moment. All was quiet except the sound of Alfred's heavy breathing, and so that was all he focused on; the sound running out of his lips, the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his hand shook against the king's whose grip had not loosened from his already aroused organ.

Alfred knew he was doing this for his husband, but that didn't mean he'd feel at ease after accepting this. It didn't mean he would not struggle. However, the king seemed to understand the peasant's internal conflict. When he leaned over and placed a kiss against Alfred's kneecap, those bright blue eyes were forced to look at the man and to know he was in the bed of another.

The king's motions and expressions seemed to demand that Alfred keep his eyes and mind upon him. And he certainly made sure Alfred understood this by the skill of his hands and the expertise of his perfectly placed kisses.

Lips trailed down Alfred's thighs, pressing downward, inward. Alfred let out a loud gasp, his fist flying into his bared teeth while his eyes clenched as tightly shut as possible. The feel of his majesty, pressing his lips around his own cock, it just . . . it was unfathomable and Alfred didn't know what to do. In retrospect, Alfred knew this was wrong; he knew he should be the one on his knees orally pleasuring the king, but instead he felt the press of the monarch's hands, holding his thighs apart while his head pressed between the two trembling legs and mouth over the throbbing phallus.

Those lips felt just as velvety on Alfred's own mouth as they did on his penis, and he was dying of delight. Knowing that this was the king's decision and his own decided motions, he willingly accepted it all and spread his legs wider to help him show his body's submission in any way. But, God, now Alfred was stuck between his instincts and restraints again. He wanted to buck, but the obvious presence of the king's placed hands upon his pelvic bone, fingers digging into skin with each descent of that royal mouth, let Alfred come to terms that it was not in the intention of his majesty that he ruin the pace and the stillness that he so wished.

Alfred felt a build rising in his gut, pooling near his groin like a white hot fire that felt like it was cooling, but it was only burning at its highest degree. Alfred's teeth began sinking into the skin of his knuckles, tears prickling up in the corners of his eyes. It was only a matter of time before the moisture slipped down his cheeks.

What was he to do? Alfred held his eyes shut to keep the sight of the sovereign of the country sucking him off from plaguing his mind. But even if he denied his eyes the erotic display, he could not ignore the feelings swelling inside his body. He could already feel himself throbbing, his cock swelling as inch by inch it was engulfed by one very skilled orifice.

Alfred's other hand continued to cling to the sheets, crunching and pulling at the fabric while his need to buck, currently staunched, was sufficed by the way King Ivan bobbed his head over the peasant's phallus. And so Alfred's body arched into him, spine bending like a bow while his neck dipped backwards, Alfred's jaw falling open despite the his own fist continually pressing against his teeth.

A choke stuttered out of Alfred's throat, finally spitting that fist out when he felt the gentle press of a chin against his scrotum. The tears clogging his eyes finally fell, and Alfred struggled with his visual organs to refuse them the sight of the king between his legs. He could feel the strain and the want in their turn just to look down, to see just how far his sworn majesty was, but he could feel him, and that was enough—that's what Alfred continually told himself.

When Alfred's fists unclenched, to ease the curiosity of his sight, he held his gaze up toward the canopy above while he pressed his hands down, following the trail of marks the king had left on his body and the remnants of his saliva. Finally, Alfred's fingertips brushed against so-soft strands of sandy locks. He was hesitant to do anything but brush against them so faintly. It was when a particularly hard suck rolled Alfred's hips off of the mattress and deeper down King Ivan's throat that the peasant's twitching fingers tangled into those light locks of hair, but he never pulled and kept his grip as gentle as could be.

"Y-Your . . . Ivan!" Alfred gasped out in the same time as his pupils dilated and his breathing nearly halted. He was so close he could feel it, and his resistance was falling. He knew he couldn't spend himself down the monarch's throat, that was just . . . it was just . . . Alfred didn't want to do it. "Please, oh, please!"

Luckily for Alfred, that warm skilled mouth popped off of him. He let out a hard sigh, but the exhale was sucked up right again when the king reached down and wrapped a tight grasp around Alfred's cock only moments after he had come off of him orally. In that moment Alfred felt how hard and swollen he was, and all it took was one good firm squeeze before he expelled his juices, squirting quite the distance before all of his semen just oozed down onto the king's hand currently pumping the organ for the last remnants of orgasmic bliss.

Alfred's head tossed, choking out broken words and startled moans. That had been one of the best orgasms Alfred had had in a long time.

Heavy lashes fluttered before Alfred's eyes sought the sight of the king. The man looked pleased and content by Alfred's state. The monarch simply sitting back to admire him for a moment while Alfred's body washed with the tiring numbness the aftershocks of his orgasm put on his physique.

After the determining of the physical health status of the peasant, the king leaned forward, all too pleased with the strong orgasm and placed his lips on the younger's neck, teeth even skimming down the underside of his jaw. Alfred's elbows had bent in the moment the king leaned over him again so that his hands pressed against the man's broad back. His majesty was still wrapped in his ornate robe, but the peasant could feel the muscle beneath the hiding fabric, giving him a vague picture of what he looked unclothed.

A blush flushed Alfred's features from the knowledge of his own shameful thoughts and he knew the king understood his internal workings. King Ivan smiled down at him, grinning victoriously now that he had his selected nightly lover's undivided attention.

The kiss shot any remaining thought of his spouse out of Alfred's mind. And so had the hand returning to his limp cock. The king squeezed him once before simply running a near phantom-like finger down the length of it. A thumb pad rubbed over the slit just briefly before retreating, and with a roll of the sovereign's own hips, Alfred began stirring to life once more.

The sheer quickness of another rise blew Alfred's mind. He's gone several rounds with his husband before—no more than three at a time—but he's never recovered from such a strong orgasmic exhaust like right now. The expertise in touch and kiss and bodily connection continued to astound Alfred, and his body eagerly melted into the king's embrace, silently begging the man to continue his worship on a sexually deprived physique.

Alfred returned the kisses just as willingly, his lips seeking that smooth mouth of the monarch's to press upon it. The peasant even went as far to drag his folds up the side of the king's neck while the man descended kisses back down Alfred's neck. Warm breath caused just as much reaction from porcelain skin like the king's cool exhales did to Alfred's flushed bronzed layers.

Sighs of content and encouragement continued leaving Alfred's mouth, even as his hands slid up the monarch's broad back and hands came once again to cradle that royal's head. Thumbs reached out, not so much to caress the man's jaw, but to feel the way that thick bone moved in time with the king's perfectly pressed kisses that left Alfred absolutely void of any oxygen each time one was initiated and successfully planted upon the expanse of his body and moist terrain of his parted lips.

Even when King Ivan's hips rolled into Alfred's, and Alfred pressed his pelvis back, he wasn't mentally aware of an arousal in the sovereign, nor had he comprehended searching for one. He was lost, Alfred was lost in the sensations brought out of his body by expert touches and well pressured kisses that he was absolutely drowning in his own physical feelings to even come to terms with the concern of his bedmate.

Alfred would usually be more considerate of his partner in bed, but this man above him, running his hands down his sides and thighs with the hands liken to an expert sculptor smoothing out the finishing touches of his molded masterpiece, and kisses so soft like a flower's petal, yet firm like someone whose job solely depended on the reaction of bodily responses—Alfred lost all previous experience in bed as well as his own dominating will to return affection because of these things that left him so defenselessly undone.

Alfred let out a sigh when he was turned onto his side, the king pressing behind him, rolling his hips into his while hands cupped Alfred's pelvic bone, encouraging the same sensual roll. Alfred followed as guided and let out content breaths while his eyes fluttered shut when the weight of the king's frame finally turned to press down on his back. Now Alfred laid out onto his stomach, the feel of the rich sheets underneath rubbed nicely against his throbbing erection, but he was more so focused on the feel of the man constantly moving behind him.

Kisses were now being placed on the back of his neck and down between his rolling shoulder blades. These places previously seemed ticklish from lack of touch, but when the king so gave his attention to the backside of the peasant, Alfred did so melt into his skill as he had before.

Demanding lips placed evenly measured kisses down Alfred's spine that arched with the movement and silent urging of the king's hands that descended down Alfred's sides, teasing each rib that those pale fingers bumped over before cool palms pressed into hips, fingers curling into skin to grip, motioning Alfred to arch and to bend. The peasant's knees now digging into the mattress to press his behind more back into the king's frame as goaded by the quiet urge of the man's hands. The last kiss to the base of Alfred's spine let a breath fall out of his throat while Alfred felt his frame shudder, especially when he felt the king's fingers everywhere over him—sometimes dipping back between his body and the mattress to tease hardened nipples or to dip into his navel, or even to run a few fingers along the length of the peasant's arousal that remained upright, trapped between Alfred's stomach and the sheets. It was then those fingers gliding along Alfred's trapped erection moved downward, rubbing just a teasing touch against his testicles before slinking inward further until the king's hand was free to come back up and slide between Alfred's round cheeks of his behind.

The touch was gentle and Ivan only rubbed him with two fingers. The king kept his own hips pressed against Alfred's ass, occasionally rolling his hips to create a sort of familiarity for the new lover underneath him that when he pressed his fingers between the well-formed globes Alfred hadn't so much stiffened or retracted to the recess of his mind. No, instead moans continually resounded, and the wonderful feel of slight muscular fluttering turned the king's fingers to give more attention to the ring of muscle he teased.

Alfred shuddered at the feel of being touched there. His body temperature heightened at the continual press from exploring fingers. As of then Alfred knew the king understood his predicament, and as of then Alfred was reminded of his virginal status.

He regretted not letting his spouse have this gift and knew it would be that way internally until the day he died. But when the king leaned over him again, those fingers adding just enough pressure to ease the tight ring open to allow the tips of two very eager digits to scrape the surface of the descent, and turned Alfred's face toward him by a caressing hand on his jaw, Alfred's eyes opened and looked at the king, blue meeting violet and it was in that eye contact that Alfred was able to read the understanding of the king's acknowledgement of his virginity even though Alfred was married. The understanding of that and of the possible reasons for neglecting to yet forgo the complete submission to his spouse had Alfred leaning into the monarch who then pressed a kiss to his lips, a kiss of assurance that he would care for him and treat him considerately while taking his virginity.

The fingers pressed in deeper, but Alfred's mind was so fogged by the way the king's tongue rolled around his own and the absolute divine taste of his spittle that he hadn't even comprehended clear enough the entrance of the man's fingers. And King Ivan had so expertly removed them just soon enough before their heated kiss ended that Alfred hardly understood what had taken place. But, while keeping the peasant occupied by his mouth and press of body, the monarch so allowed the younger to examine him as he moved, shifted over toward the night stand near the bed and taken up a glass vile.

King Ivan never pulled away from Alfred for long, and opted to have his weight remain pressed on the boy's back while his arms and hands worked around him, allowing Alfred to take in the sight of the vile in his grasp and the way he broke the seal on it to open it and pour a small amount on his fingers, just three. The king then proceeded to kiss Alfred's jaw and neck and shoulders all the while he let his hands trail back down to the peasant's behind and rub in the same way he had before. This time, when he pressed two fingers in once more the gasp that escaped Alfred's lips was felt breaching up against Ivan's lips while he kissed and suckled the younger's throat.

But King Ivan continued to press inward until his knuckles rubbed against fluttering and twitching outer muscle. When he hummed, Alfred followed suit and closed his eyes, taking in the feel of penetration as well as the enjoyment of the king's weight on his back.

Fingers curled into the sheets, and eyes continued to flutter, but Alfred never once remembered feeling uncomfortable with those fingers inside him, not even when a third joined their company. Instead he moved his knees outward to his best ability to move with his king pressing down upon him. His thighs spread out in invitation and submission, and Alfred banished the lingering traces of regret if just to please this man whose bed he was invited into.

Alfred hadn't expected the addition of a fourth finger. It made him gasp and hold his breath until he was red in the face. His body shuddered at its joining and the discomfort quickly began bringing him out of his lust-ridden high.

Looking back at the king above him, he watched him work diligently to prepare Alfred for what was to come, but even in seeing this consideration, Alfred began to wonder if it was too much. He groaned when those fingers twisted. He felt absolutely full and overly deflowered already.

Lips would not dissuade from their held frown and in time Alfred simply pressed his forehead down into the sheets and closed his eyes, willing his body to accept the penetration, his thoughts not even wandering as toward the reasons for the near fist inside him. All Alfred could focus on was the feel of it all and the bubbling fright over this.

Indeed Alfred was pulled out of his inner conflict when he felt a gentle kiss press against his shoulder. He turned his head, his eyes searching for the sight of the man above him. There, Ivan was leant over him, his lips still pressed against his shoulder just in time for their gazes to meet when Alfred turned to him. There was a small smile on the king's lips and the moment Alfred seemed to calm—even his own muscles relaxing—the monarch pressed even closer, sealing their lips.

The kiss was gentle and soft and considerate. Alfred thought it was a means to distract him from the task at hand, but when he winced into the shared contact from the feel of the king press his fingers in deeper the king pulled his mouth away, his face now examining Alfred's pain riddled features. Looking at the monarch, Alfred noticed the slight annoyance laced into the subtle furl of his brows and a sudden dread began rising inside the peasant . . . was he suddenly displeasing the king?

Alfred understood that all he had done was just lay there and take the sovereign's ministrations and that he wasn't being that much of a participating partner, but he had thought the king wanted him compliant and still while he reigned in control and did as he wished. Had Alfred been wrong?

Eyes widened, jaw loosened, and back arched when something was touched. A loud gasp left Alfred's mouth while his mind searched for the reasons as to why his body reacted like so. After simply pulling in his bearings, Alfred realized that the king had . . .

Looking back at the man, Alfred noticed that pleased smile on his lips. He looked at Alfred, satisfied with the reaction and in so pressed at the same angle again. Alfred shook, his fingers curling again into the sheets while he tried to contain himself in all of this.

"Mmm, mmm!" Alfred took to pressing the soft bedding against his mouth while his eyes closed shut. The sounds he made embarrassed him and the movement he made against those rubbing fingers ashamed him. But in time Alfred had grown used to them, his body relaxing to the now familiar touch as it opened up to a man not vowed to.

When the motions had Alfred strained to near another orgasm he bit his lips, trying to will himself to hold out. He knew he wouldn't be able to for long if the king . . .

King Ivan pulled away. His fingers slipped from Alfred with a moist slick noise. It made the peasant shiver, but not enough from the feel of being so stretched. It felt different, not at all in an unpleasant way, but different, and soon enough his mind drifted back toward his husband like it shouldn't have.

Alfred remained still, his fingers gripping the sheets in readiness. Alfred was ready for this . . . right? Maybe. Maybe not.

His ears caught sound of the sliding of fabric. Alfred felt himself freeze upon realizing that the king was disrobing himself. Was he now as nude as Alfred? Thoughts came to Alfred's mind in wonder of what the monarch looked like. Was he as flawless as Alfred had believed and felt?

The curiosity rose inside Alfred, but he refrained from glancing, from taking a peek to quell his curious spirit. Instead he focused on the fear rising inside him. Of the anxiousness to have this all be over with.

Alfred jumped when he felt a touch. He was more startled to feel it upon his hand than any other place upon him. Eyes opened and he turned his head back around to look at Ivan. He was leaning close over him, just a hair width apart.

While Alfred had taken in the confusion in wondering why the king had taken hold of his hand in a comforting sort of manner firstly before anything else, Alfred's mind and thoughts therein had been torn asunder and remolded to fit what was passing through his thoughts now. Alfred was mesmerized by the sight he took in. He knew it, the king was perfect; not a scar upon his porcelain skin.

He was so awestruck that he felt come back to himself while he observed the way the king brought his hand to his mouth and pressed a civil kiss to it. Alfred was simply a peasant, not even average class at that. He wasn't noble in any way or form, and he certainly didn't even have the attributes that the nobility of the kingdom found so attractive.

And yet there he was, in the king's bed while the man—the perfect embodiment of the ideal form and physique of beauty—looked at him with his own adoration and attraction. It baffled Alfred to no end and the confusion made his gut hurt from feeling so out of place and so unworthy.

When Alfred was turned upon his back and the king settled between his thighs, easing them further apart with the soothing caress of his too-gentle hands, Alfred's gaze fell from the king. The man was beauty embodied, and Alfred was finding himself so lacking in his presence. But when the feel of knuckles brushed against his cheek, Alfred's eyes flicked up toward the man hovering over him.

Alfred kept his gaze upon the King's face, into his eyes, keeping his own gaze from wandering to the form of the monarch so he didn't have to continually compare himself into degradation. But Alfred saw it. He saw the desire within the king's irises, and the intensity of it made him gasp, his lips parting and pupils dilating in understanding.

At the feel of King Ivan's cock pressing against him, Alfred understood he had pleased the king enough to arouse him. So, that must mean he wasn't completely unattractive . . . right?

"Uh!" Alfred's eyes fell shut again when he felt more of the length press into him. His shoulders arched, limbs locking. Even after so much tedious preparation, Alfred still hardly managed this.

Teeth grit and sweat beading on his forehead, Alfred forced himself to remain still, and obedient—not just to the king and their contract, but to Arthur.

Hands reached up to latch onto something grasp. Fingers began digging and Alfred's thighs struggled to remain spread, instead they clapped against the king's hips, his walls tightening to halt the descent for some time. But, surprisingly, the king was patient and waited for as long as he needed until he continued on with the penetration.

When there was no more movement, when Alfred felt stretched to about bursting, that was when he felt the tears he hadn't known had built up slip down his cheeks. He often wondered if he was crying from the sudden pain or the regret he consciously knew was still there. Even though Alfred tried not to think about it, he couldn't help but mourn the loss of his virginity.

When the stabbing pain attacking his brain ebbed, Alfred finally calmed his heaving breath and released the tension on his body. His legs continued to tremble but spread accordingly, his shoulders relaxed back down onto the mattress underneath, and his hands . . . Alfred looked up and noticed his hands were gripping the king's upper arms, his fingers biting into skin, turning it a red in shade while his nails dug into the skin to mark it. Alfred felt ashamed at the sight and quickly moved his hands away.

He would have uttered an apology for ruining the perfect appearance of the sovereign, but his words never got the chance to leave his mouth, not when the king had dipped his head down and pressed his lips against Alfred's; making speaking futile. The kiss was deep and filled with passion, enough to entice Alfred to melt into the body lain atop his own, arms instinctively going up and wrapping around the older's neck just as the king began to move.

With each pressing thrust, Alfred felt his walls stretch more around the king's girth, his mouth falling open the deeper the penetration. His breath left him when King Ivan pulled his mouth from his, those pale lips of his then pressing downward against his cheek, Alfred's chin, down his tanned neck toward his collarbone. But, oh, the king knew how to pace himself.

Alfred was already whining out moans with every press inside. His hips rolled in time with Ivan's by the guidance of a sure hand. When the peasant was moving his hips on his own, the king moved his hand, dragging his palm up Alfred's torso as they moved against the other. The pads of his fingers rubbed over sweaty skin and the touch of his thumb enticed a pleasurable reaction inside of Alfred when the digit moved against his budded nipples.

He didn't hurt anymore. He felt full, incredibly so, and he often wondered if this was how his husband felt when he penetrated him. It was wrong to think of Arthur during a time like this, but Alfred wanted to compare this feeling bubbling up in his gut to someone, and since this was his first time he automatically thought to his and Arthur's first time together. Did Alfred look as pleasing as Arthur had on their wedding night? Did the king desire to hold him tight, to burry himself deeper, and to continue to pleasure the both of them?

Was Alfred that desirable to the King?

Touches, so gentle but so firm in guide pulled Alfred from his dampening thoughts. Fingers trailed along his jaw, pressing at the bone to turn his tossed face toward the one above him. Alfred's eyes fluttered open and looked at the king. He took in his expression—the man looked immensely satisfied. Good, Alfred was glad he could please the king.

When he kissed Alfred again, the peasant melted into the movement of his body, clinging onto the body above him, subconsciously spreading his legs wider and sucking in the monarch's cool breaths while the older man thrust into him, pressing in deeper just to stretch him so loose. When Alfred felt that throbbing rod brush against something inside him that made him arch, made his chest collide with Ivan's to where he was certain both felt the bump of each other's beating hearts . . . Alfred knew that he had come to accept this euphoric bliss.

"Ah!" Alfred gasped when he could, but the king's lips were never far from his own. And Alfred sighed into his mouth, suckling on those pressing lips just as the king maneuvered and made to suckle the peasant's tongue.

While Ivan never returned his hands back to Alfred's hips to guide, he had moved his hands, letting them come down caress those quivering thighs, digging fingers into skin while the sovereign explored such virgin territory. Alfred could see the way his eyes fluttered with every rock inside him. He could even tell his state of arousal by the feel of the throb of the king's cock. It was swelling, rising in temperature just as it descended into tight warmth further.

"Y-Your majesty!" Alfred gasped, his back arching just as the king picked up his pace. His movement was perfect, the epitome of an ideal lover. The king kept such an even and timed pace even when he picked up speed he didn't falter in any of his movement nor his continual bodily worship. He had Alfred touched, kissed, suckled, lapped, thoroughly pleased and undone in every second that passed.

Alfred groaned, his eyes clenching shut tightly. He could feel his own erection bobbing against the king's abdomen. He could feel the way the underside of his cock rubbed against a smooth abdomen and his scrotum brushed against finely trimmed lower body hair. He felt hot against the king's cool skin, but it was such a pleasant feeling that Alfred could do nothing but shiver and tumble out moans of peaking ecstasy.

Alfred never usually was this vocal in bed. Though he agreed that penetration was indeed just as pleasurable as penetrating in that undoubtedly defining moment, Alfred understood his need to preen and keen due to the fact that he had his mouth unoccupied. Right then the king saw to littering the peasant's neck with marks of his own, and all Alfred managed to do was arch into those lips and teeth while his mouth dropped considerably, throat rumbling out noise after pitching sound.

When with Arthur, Alfred usually was the one kissing and sucking upon any patch of skin he could sink his teeth into. Now that his role was reversed for the first time—and with a man not his spouse no less—Alfred didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to place his lips on pliable skin, he desired to sink his teeth into jutting limb and bone, but as his eyes looked at his options before him he refrained and retreated his needs into the recess of his mind. This was the king, this was not Arthur. That ivory skin was not to be marred. Those silvery tresses not to be grabbed and pulled, and those subtle lips not to be bitten nor pulled taut until red.

The desires to see such a sight made Alfred shiver, his lust overriding his guilt that remained inside him. The more he had thought on these things and longingly wished these things done, he found his body moving on its own. Firstly it was his hands, they pressed down upon the king's back, palms sliding down until pressed against the man's lower back. Alfred gasped, his eyes fluttering and chest heaving with deep breaths at the feel of those powerful hips delving him such deep penetrating thrusts that left him dazed during each descent. Alfred held his hands there for a moment, even going as far to push the king, goading him in an encouraging manner to deepen his thrusts and pick up his rhythm.

Alfred stuttered out a sigh when King Ivan turned his head, a rumbling moan making its way out of his chest as he kissed Alfred's tan neck until his lips began pressing light kisses against the peasant's jaw, pulling back so that teeth could begin nibbling. During this, Alfred's hands moved, rubbing under jutting shoulder blades now before reaching back up over the curve of the man's back until the tips of Alfred's fingers brushed hair. He grasped the back locks of the king's hair, tightened his grip the more Alfred moaned at the feel of the sovereign's perfect incisors pulling at the skin on his jaw.

He knew strands were pulled, but that didn't deter Alfred from keeping his fingers tangled into the monarch's hair. His grip loosened even as the king pulled himself away from the peasant's ravished neck and jaw as if to admire his work. Alfred only observed the man as those violet eyes took in the sight of the discoloration.

Heavy breaths mostly escaped through the king's nose, his breath too in control for Alfred to fathom. But right now Alfred was transfixed on the way the king's muscles tensed in his movements. By the way they rounded, poking out more prominently, and the way Ivan's neck thickened when he pressed forward, deeper, Alfred just . . . couldn't help himself.

He leaned in, brushing lips against that pale neck before pressing a very light kiss onto the side of the king's jutting sternomastoid. Alfred was only going to place one, but when his mouth moved, hot breath spanning over moonlight-pale skin, his lips descended again and he kissed the king's neck once more. After the two kisses, Alfred's mouth couldn't seem to pull away from the taste of the monarch's skin. His arms wrapped around the man, holding him close as the peasant pressed open-mouthed kisses against the king's neck, soft gentle ones, ones that wouldn't show but hopefully please.

Alfred felt the subtle press and arch of the king's neck pressing into his mouth. Even as the man continually rolled his hips into him, Alfred continued his own motion of lavish. But after a few good, deep thrusts, Alfred's body arched on its own, his mouth falling away from neck and shoulders to cry out its sense of pleasure coursing through his body.

With a heave, Alfred's arms loosened and he collapsed back into the sheets, head pressing against fluffed pillows and hands reaching out to grip sheets. Oh, he was losing his mind, and the king seemed all too pleased with his boggled state.

Eyes fluttered up toward the king. King Ivan looked so well composed. Nothing but a light sheen of sweat on him and small notice of exertion. Alfred, on the other hand, was beading sweat from his forehead, the moisture causing his bangs to stick to his face, and lips to parch.

Every thrust inside had the peasant arching and each press brought him closer and closer toward the edge. The king never gave him a break to rein in his bearings, he simply ravished his body and conquered his very nervous system until he was the sole ruler of the peasant's senses.

Pupils dilated with the sight of the king and the white flashes of toe-curling pleasure. The tip of his tongue had tasted of the divine flavor of the monarch and remembered it, continued to reenact the taste while the king's mouth was away if only to crave for it more. Nostrils flared, inhaling the scents of the room, and the thick musk of their combined bodies, the strongest of course was the aroma of the sovereign himself, now masking Alfred over with his own pheromones.

Time was lost in the absolute worship of this man and what he did to Alfred's body. So much so that he hadn't even comprehended the way the king's cock swelled further, stretching him wider only to have Alfred cry out and beg the man to pry him open more so. Legs were spread and skilled hands reached between them to caress, and all it took was one simple touch, a near feather-light ghost of a caress by the king's index finger that sent Alfred over the edge.

"NnnAHH!" Alfred's head fell back into the pillows disheveled underneath him, his back arching so much that his chest collided with the king's while his hands shot up from grasping the sheets ruffled under their bodies to press against a wide ribcage to hold onto the man, as well as feel the way that body moved against him—into him.

Alfred had lost his breath in his orgasm. He could feel how much he spent, riveting all over his chest as well as the king's in stream after stream. Alfred had felt some of it splatter onto his chin, and with the way the king still moved against him to work toward his own end, the brushing and rubbing against Alfred's cock and balls only had his orgasm last that much longer until . . .

Alfred sucked in a breath, his toes curling at the feel of the king's swell and his release. He thought that the monarch might have pulled out when the time came, after all, even the seed of the king of the land was sacred, but he emptied himself into Alfred. King Ivan had pressed close, leaning down, chest to chest, neck to neck, while he orgasmed and expelled his seed.

It almost felt like a lock of sorts. Alfred felt King Ivan shift in his ecstasy, his arms wrapping around his frame and hands grasping at Alfred to get a better grip. He had shifted their forms slightly, near the hips. In this shift Alfred shivered at the feeling of the king's cock slipping deeper into him even as he spent himself inside him. Alfred had moaned at the feel of such a sensation, one hand even coming down to his stomach feeling as if his abdomen would distend from the sheer amount the king had released.

The room was quiet now with nothing but the sound of their breaths. Alfred could hear himself above the king and simply laid still, running his hands up the man's back to feel the way his chest rose and fell in time with his own jogging breaths. When Alfred began to feel kisses trail up his shoulder toward his jaw, he had wondered if the king had recovered from the high.

Alfred moaned, not quite sure if it was a tone full of bliss or mere annoyance. He was absolutely exhausted and yet those pressing kisses felt as if the king meant to arouse again. He gasped when he felt one of the king's hands fall down toward his hip, steadying himself as he rolled his hips into Alfred. The peasant let out another gasp upon understanding that the king was indeed not finished.

Hands once more ran over the expanse of Alfred's body, lips sought his own, and hips began to pick up another pace. Alfred understood that whatever the king wanted he received. Who was Alfred, a lowly peasant, to deny his own sovereign monarch?

And so he turned his head, closed his eyes, and surrendered his body again. However, he noticed a halt in movement. He would have waited, knowing that in a moment the king would return to his feast on him, but that was not the case.

Alfred opened his eyes and looked up. There as the king, hovering over him. It seemed he had been waiting for Alfred to place his attention upon him, because when his eyes met his, the man leaned down on his elbows and pressed a kiss against Alfred's lips. It was soft yet full of passion, and when King Ivan broke the kiss, he continually rubbed his lips against Alfred's swollen folds.

"I was promised a night," his majesty spoke. His cool breath exhaled into Alfred's parted mouth only for the peasant's eyes to flutter as he inhaled the clear cool breath. "I am to see it carried out wholeheartedly."

So . . . the king meant to use the entire evening for their time under the sheets. Alfred had hoped to be done within one round. He was tired. He hadn't had proper sleep and he desperately needed to fall into the embrace of his husband. But this was the king, and he spoke the truth. A night with the king was promised of Alfred, and so he would uphold it.

Alfred had just about closed his eyes and relaxed his body in preparation for the exertion it was about to receive, but he hadn't gotten into such a comfortable state before he felt the king pull away, and pull out of him. It was a strange feeling, and when he was empty of the king, Alfred's legs began to close, feeling unnaturally gapping.

Turning, he set his eyes on King Ivan as he moved himself toward the edge of the bed. He reached the nightstand next to the bedframe. For a moment Alfred believed the king in need to lather himself again, which Alfred wouldn't complain against, but he noticed him reaching for something else.

Curiously, Alfred watched the man reach out to strike up a portable burner, heating a placed kettle already brewing steamed water. After it was hot enough he poured the steaming water into a bowl, immediately a discolored vapor arose in the air. He turned, smiling at Alfred before coming back to him and placing the bowl with the strong fragrance underneath his nose.

"If you are having trouble keeping up, breathe." Ivan pressed the bowl closer toward Alfred who looked apprehensive about it, but the scent of it wasn't at all unpleasing. He took the king's word despite a small tarnish to his pride—he couldn't help it if he was tired!—and began inhaling the vapors.

Nothing happened at first and Alfred was about to push the bowl away, but the king pressed closer, side pressing against Alfred's while his arm wrapped around his shoulders, enticing him to sit up and inhale the fragrance properly. Alfred obediently obeyed. He winced and tried to hide his discomfort as he sat up on his knees and held a hand onto the bowl, bowing his head and closing his eyes to take in deeper breaths. Eventually the king goaded him to cup the bowl and hold onto it himself, pacing his breaths.

The massaging hands on his shoulders felt good and Alfred moaned at the way those fingers eased away the tension in his muscles. He felt more relaxed, yet, not enough to fall asleep. In fact, the more Alfred began inhaling the steaming vapors, the more his weariness left him.

The kisses against his shoulders and back was pleasant as well. Alfred hadn't even realized he was being shifted to lay upon his stomach while the king covered his body with his own. The peasant simply continued inhaling until he felt his heart rate begin to pick up. His eyes opened, fully dilated after feeling so aware of everything. His hearing seemed more attuned, his taste that much more memorable, his usual horrible sight could now make out far away shapes, and his body . . . it felt everything; the light brush of breath, the simple touch of the tips of fingers, the gentle scrape of nails.

Alfred was shivering now, feeling the actual presence of the king radiating off of the man as if he were reaching down and touching him himself. But, oh, when he touched him, when he kissed him, when he suckled, oh, Alfred fell once more into sexual bliss.

"Oh!" Alfred's head fell back, eyes fluttering while his cheeks warmed at the feel of the king pressing between the globes of his behind. He preened with an ascending moan when he felt the king's wet oral muscle poke out and prod him. The feeling was new and erotic to him and yet Alfred found himself pressing his hips back into the new sensation while he leaned his head down and continued to inhale the vapors.

The aphrodisiac was absolutely divine. The way it effected Alfred had him addicted to it, inhaling what vapors he could as he hardened to near pain and pressed back against the king's teasing tongue. Oh, that tongue! When it was finished pressing against stretched muscle it lapped up the substance leaking out of the orifice before tracing up and up, from the curve of Alfred's spine to the bend of his neck and shoulders.

The king was now leaning over Alfred, his body completely covering his while the man leaned his head over the peasant's shoulder, dipping down and closing eyes as he too inhaled the intoxicating vapors. Alfred could already feel his length rubbing against him, and he moaned, turned his head and moaned against the king's ear while pressing a kiss to his jaw.

King Ivan turned to Alfred, looking at him with dark irises, Alfred's own hue matched in shade. They said nothing, and it was the king who leaned forward and initiated a kiss which Alfred responded passionately to, moaning and groaning while the king pressed inside him once more, encouraging his hips to move in time with his own. And Alfred did.

The bowl of libido enhancing incense was forgotten when the effects it did on Alfred's body turned him into an uncomprehending mess. With eyes closed shut tightly, and lips parted to mutter out his keens of euphoria, Alfred had pressed his cheek against the mattress, taking in breaths in time with the thrusts.

"Uh, uh, uh! Nmm!" Alfred's fingers curled into the sheets, gripping while he felt the king move into him.

No matter the position, it certainly felt perfect each time. Alfred sighed at the feel of Ivan's hands on his hips, those fingers reaching down sometimes to press between his thighs, spreading them more for better feeling for the both of them. And at such an angle, it wasn't hard for the monarch to rub against that delicious spot inside Alfred.

Their second time, Alfred could feel so much more. His mind seemed sharper, focusing more so on the roll of the king's hips. He noticed how smooth Ivan's movement was, but yet held in control to press a certain way at a certain time. And that cock . . . God . . . Alfred was a mewling mess, his body shivering just at the heightened feeling of the throbbing rod pumping in and out of him. The king was well endowed, thick enough at the base to give Alfred a groaning stretch right before he was tapped by heavily burdened testicles. Alfred moaned at the feel of their weight and bounce, feeling the scrotum tighten even as the king leaned closer, pressing their connected bodies as intimately tight as possible.

"Ah, ah, Ivan!" Alfred bit his lip at forgetting to mention the honorary title, but the worry over it hadn't cascaded down upon him. Instead, the response he got was a searing kiss. The king had grabbed his jaw, turned his head, twisting his neck almost painfully before the monarch smashed his lips against Alfred's.

Teeth bit at Alfred's abused lips, he felt sharp bone puncture his swollen folds, and then tongue lap at the leaking blood. Alfred moaned into the man's mouth, his sounds rising in volume especially when King Ivan had slunk his hand between Alfred's body and the sheets to take hold of his aching arousal and squeeze it in time with his own movement.

Bucking into that hand before pressing into that cock was so very hard and once Alfred's rhythm was shot, he was spilling himself into the king's grasp, moaning, gasping, and inhaling Ivan's breath as he too shook from the constriction of Alfred's walls and emptied into him. But they had not stopped, no, both were still so hard, still so aroused, and still so wrapped up in the other.

Alfred had maneuvered onto his knees however, giving the king better leverage to lean more into him, pressing the weight of his body into the force of his thrusts. And Alfred had clung. He had dug his nails into the king's arm, keeping hold of that one limb that supported the monarch's balance as he hovered over Alfred, mounting him and bringing them both to release.

Alfred had let out a grunt when the king spent himself and then collapsed upon him. This time he could feel the rise and fall of that chest moving upon his back. He could sense the king was even growing weary after so many twists and turns in bed.

But Alfred's mind was still fogged by the pungent vapors, his eyes still a dark. And it was he to move, to roll his hips, to entice another rise. Hearing the king moan in turn made Alfred flush with heat. His eyes closed, already feeling his majesty stir to life.

Alfred had sworn it was the loudness of his moans that made his lips curl as if smiling, but he knew he wasn't in his correct state of mind right then and so it could have been anything. Right then, though he twisted, laying on his side, his eyes wide open to watch the king lean back, to run his hands down the peasant's sides, tracing teasing fingers across sensitive pubescent hairs, gliding over prickled skin before wrapping around a spreading thigh.

King Ivan placed a kiss to Alfred's knee and then downward against the skin on his thighs. He held the limb, moving against the peasant and silently declaring another round. Alfred moaned, his sighs leaving him as if he were satisfied, wholly sedated in the situation he found himself in. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't . . . perhaps morning would clarify everything up for him. But right then, Alfred felt it fine to lose himself in the touch, the taste, the smell, the feel of everything the king did to him.

Tears brimmed Alfred's eyes after his body spent itself so much. He could feel even the king nearing exhaustion with his slower movements, and yet, the dawn had yet to rise in the sky. While he too wanted to rest, he knew he had promised to please. So he turned, taking up the bowl set off to the side and then pressing close to King Ivan. He placed his knees on either side of his hips, pressing him to sit back while he brought himself down upon the man, urging him to continue, to ravish, to feast upon his flesh and the desires therein, and more importantly, to inhale.

Alfred set the bowl underneath the king's nostrils, urging him to breathe in the vapors while he began rolling his hips, rising and falling in Ivan's lap. His body shuddered and churned while he worked his legs muscles over. But Alfred said nothing, nothing at all, and simply clung to the king while he rode the man.

It was when the monarch had slapped away the bowl and reached out, wrapping his arms so tightly around Alfred and pressing forward, that the peasant had known he was rejuvenated. The king had pressed him down into the sheets, tumbling him over now once more on his back. Alfred cried out heightened pleasure while the king set a brutal pace. His desire burned the younger and Alfred had fallen into such a state that his mind had nearly shut off and all that was known was the bodily pleasure and the absolute satisfaction in that night.

As the king pressed his seed deep inside him in the final moments, Alfred felt the substance slip out of him, obviously his insides were overburdened with the ejaculations. Alfred had never felt so full, so stretched, so sore, so exhausted . . . so goddamn good in his life.

For a moment Alfred had forgotten he wasn't breathing. There, with the king of his country collapsed on top of him, his own hands resting against the man's back, Alfred had been holding his breath, all the oxygen in his lungs just gone. Finally he took in a breath, his eyes fluttering and his mind coming out of the fog and realizing the early morning colors the coming dawn was shading the room in.

Alfred hurt. He ached so much, both physically and emotionally, and all too soon he felt tears falling down his cheeks. He had clung to the king, wrapped his arms and legs around him simply to hold onto something while he tried to muster in his pitiful sobs. Alfred thought he had been quiet, perhaps he had, or perhaps when the king moved and pressed his mouth down upon his it was to silence the noise.

But Alfred couldn't stop his tears, even when the king continually wiped them away, caressed his face, and kissed his eyes. The weariness of it all had taken his energy and in time Alfred had fallen asleep, wrapping in another man's embrace.

Alfred had slept soundly. He knew he should have tossed and turned, woken up several times during his slumber due to inner torment, but that was not the case. Alfred had been comfortable for the first time in years and just let his weary body sink into the sheets and comforter and the pleasant aromas wafting around him.

He might have thought he would have been allowed to rest for as long as he needed, but he was awoken by a servant, and already Alfred could tell he needed more sleep to recover what strength he had lost. As he opened his eyes, the sight of Toris registered in his mind and he blinked in recognition.

"I am sorry to disturb you," the man said. He looked somewhat apologetic, but mostly intent on upholding his duty. "But I must tend to you and prepare you for your return journey home."

Right . . . of course Alfred wouldn't be allowed to stay for any longer amount of time in the king's bed. Probably wasn't proper.

And so Alfred nodded, trying his best to sit up but he winced, his facial features revealing just how well his body responded to the after effects of their nightly rounds.

"Here, let me help you." Toris came to his side, and placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder and then his back, helping him to seat upright while in that time another squad of servants entered the room, each holding something needed.

One servant stood by with a change of clothing, another held towels, another held a silver basin of warm steaming water, and another-this one Alfred eyed the most—was holding a platter full of fruits. Alfred felt his hunger strike him in that moment and once the sound of his rumbling stomach broke the mostly silent room, said servant approached and held out the platter to Alfred in offer that he pick up anything that looked pleasing to him.

Alfred ate nearly the entire thing. Though, it was a little difficult to eat when the servants had ran warm towels down the entire expanse of his body. Alfred flinched when they pried his legs open, rubbing between his thighs. But the warm towels felt nice on his stretched hole and he sighed in content when he was properly cleaned.

Curious in noting that the servants folded the soiled towels after they were done and placed them upon a tray for another servant to whisk away. Alfred wanted to chuckle at the sight, wondering if they treated the dirtied clothes with revere simply because it was the king's spittle and semen that washed onto the towels. Well, Alfred could speculate all he wanted, but he was more focused on filling his seemingly empty belly.

The wonder of when the king had left him did rise up in Alfred's curious thoughts. Not that he cared. He understood that the man was the king of their country and he had important matters to attend to every day. But even after all of that understanding, Alfred still came to his own thoughts of whether or not he had been pleasing to the monarch.

Glancing down he noted his body littered in discolored marks. Each one stirred a feeling inside Alfred that he refused to let surface after his mind recalled their certain creation. So he kept his eyes away and let the servants finish tidying him up.

When he was dressed and pulled to his feet, Alfred was a little surprised how much better he felt. He wondered if the servants had put something in the water to make his aching limbs relax. He still felt pretty stretched, but the ache was manageable.

Toris sighed, nodding his head in approval. "Alright, if you would come with me."

Alfred nodded, watching as the servants made their exit and then Toris motioned him to follow. Alfred kept pace with the servant as much as he could and when he understood he was being led outside of the palace walls he accepted his time of exit.

Out in the front courtyard there already awaited a carriage. It looked similar to the one Alfred had arrived in, but, perhaps slightly bigger. Alfred wasn't one much for detail, but he understood this would be the last time he ever set eyes on anything royal and so mentally began remembering everything. After all, Arthur would like to hear about what it was like within the castle walls.

When Toris came up to the carriage and opened the door, standing to the side, Alfred understood the silent motion. He walked up to the carriage, turning his head once to take in the sight of the extravagant layout of the peaking towers and walls of the castle one last time. He then turned away, casting his gaze down and hopping into the carriage.

Alfred's eyes were immediately set on Toris as he closed the door and then stepped away, offering a courteous bow, keeping the position even as the carriage started off. The sigh that left Alfred's lips reminded his heart of the life he could simply never have. He should at least feel honored that he had been allowed to receive a taste. But . . . at what cost?

The troubling thoughts pulled Alfred's eyes away from the white walls as the carriage left the barricaded gates. It was then they widened, his first reaction, before his second was to slam his frame back into the cushioned seat he remained in.

There, before him, seated just across was the king.

"Your majesty!" Alfred didn't understand why he was there. But he couldn't fight back the awe in seeing him in his completely garbed royal attire. The man looked breathtaking.

The golden jewel encrusted crown sat upon his perfectly situated locks. The head ornament shined as the sun's rays streaked through the carriage windows, beaming off the precious metal and jewels creating a cascade of rainbow hues glittering the decorative expanse of the carriage interior walls. While the colors created a prism in Alfred's irises, his sight mostly focused on the garb and how the king held himself. All the sayings of the majesty when this royal was sighted have not fallen into the dirt.

King Ivan was dressed in golden fabrics, each piece perfectly sewn to his form with crests and decorations etched into every latched piece of cloth. Velvet red sashes accented the gold while necklaces of wide carved golden cubes and delved gems hung off his neck and littered his breast. A fur heavy cloak hung off one shoulder, held onto his other shoulder with a golden chain and crest embedded pendant.

If ever Alfred had been awestruck just to see the monarch down-dressed in bed, this had certainly changed his already illustrious view of him. There was no doubt that the man he had spent the night with was indeed the sovereign king of their land.

King Ivan offered a smile, of pleasantry or habit, it was hard to distinguish the make of the gesture, but that was the least of Alfred's concern.

"I have laid off my duties for the day to offer you personal words of thanks," Ivan had said to him.

Alfred felt his cheeks heat up from the words. His eyes quickly glanced away from the radiant monarch in reverence and respect. "You needn't have done that. It was my own honor to have been selected out of many potential candidates to lay in your bed." Alfred still wondered how the king had picked him. Was it through his own personal taste or had it simply been the drawing of random names of the citizens of his kingdom?

Even still, the guilt was already heavily settled within Alfred from the morning. As much as he said the things he had, it was only for the politeness in the presence of his majesty. While he knew it was indeed an honor for any—wed or unwed—to be bedded by the king, Alfred still clung to the memory that he was a married man, and had so married his husband through love and devotion.

The king smiled. He reached down, gloved hands patting a compartment next to him. He opened it and showed Alfred the glittering coins. "As promised, the payment for your services."

Alfred wanted to cringe at the word, "services," but he ended up shivering, the word instead evoking the passionate memories of the previous night. He kept his gaze down, not wishing to take in any expression of the king, but he looked upon the coin. Certainly, there was enough to maintain him and his husband for years upon years. A small form of happiness arose in him after knowing he could help support Arthur better.

"I hope it is to your liking."

Alfred glanced up to take in the king's face shortly. The monarch looked pleased with the way Alfred gawked at the sight.

"Of course, your majesty." Alfred glanced down again. He didn't say much more after that, but he did wonder if the man meant to ride out with him all the way to his home.

A slight embarrassment arose. Alfred wondered if the king understood just how poor he was. If he continued with him on this journey then he'd certainly see the shack Alfred and his husband called home. Or worse, he might see Arthur.

Alfred glanced out of the carriage window and noted the position of the sun. It was late morning, but it shouldn't take the carriage no more than midafternoon to reach his home. Arthur would surely be up, and he would most definitely see the king . . . well, that's if the king exited the carriage.

Another thought struck Alfred after his eyes were pulled back to the absolute ornate display of garb the king wore. He understood that he lived on the far outskirts of the city, passed the middle class housing to the very edge where nothing but forest and small peasant homes lay. It wasn't necessarily safe for one of nobility to travel through, especially with such a heavily and expensive burdened cargo they carried.

But as soon as their carriage made way out of the city's outer walls, Alfred took note of more entourage turning and following in tow. Soldiers and guards followed on horseback and other smaller carriages. Of course the king wouldn't risk travel outside of the confines of his heavily guarded city walls without the proper protection. Why had Alfred even thought otherwise?

The guards gave him a little relief. He sat back into his seat, feeling the overall weariness of the current events. But he couldn't even begin to hope to close his eyes and get a little rest. Not with the king seated right across from him, staring those vibrant amethysts at him.

Alfred tried to focus on his own thoughts, on what he would do when he greeted his husband again, on what they would discuss when he could finally sit with him, on what they would do with the coin he was given. Instead, the bumps the carriage ran over averted his thoughts, his eyes even falling back to the image of the king before him. The monarch had not taken his eyes off of Alfred once. The notion of that continued to keep Alfred's gaze away from him, trying as he might to focus his attention on the decorations elaborated inside the carriage.

But with the sun's rays beaming prisms off of King Ivan's jewels, the colors blinding Alfred's eyes, and as the winds crept through the windows, the scent of his majesty wafted over toward Alfred's nostrils and he could do nothing but inhale the man, and . . . God, he smelt the same as he had the previous night.

Eyes turned toward the man who would not move his own gaze away from the peasant. Alfred held his gaze for a moment before he decided to move away so that he could focus on his own thoughts, or on the motion of the jostling carriage. Instead, the king's strong gaze held Alfred's eyes. The intensity in those violet irises tore through Alfred's defenses and sent chill through his blood.

Alfred's breath caught in his throat and his heart nearly seized up. Such command in that man's gaze, such authority and the king executed the persona perfectly. And now, too often Alfred was brought back when he was that close to those eyes, when they roamed over the expanse of his body and took in his movement to perfectly maneuvered motions.

Reaching up, Alfred pulled at the collar of his jacket. He groaned at the stiff wear of nobility, and the overall heat of it. He felt like he was on fire, and the clothing he had been adorned in was not exactly breathable it seemed. It was made of fine fabrics, yes, but right then Alfred missed the lighter, tattered and patched wear he had on before.

Reaching up, Alfred pulled on the curtains to seal off the sun, hoping for shaded relief. His cheeks continued to heat even as he glanced at the king briefly. "It is a hot afternoon."

The king nodded curtly. "If you say so."

The heat wouldn't quell though and Alfred felt he'd melt. He forbade himself from pulling at the clasps and buttons on his clothing. He didn't want to be offensive to the monarch whom had graced him with the extravagant wear.

Instead his breathing grew heavy, and his sweating hands continually rubbed against his breeches. It became such an annoyance that Alfred was about ready to ask the king if he carried a glass of water within the cabinets embedded into the compartments around them. But when he glanced up toward the king again his eyes only were captured by that strong stare. The heat inside him rose again the more he took in the monarch's gaze and now Alfred was grasping for anything to cool himself.

His discomfort made him fidget so impolitely. A short groan passed through clenched teeth. Alfred had quickly sucked the sound back into himself, fearing the reprimand, but the king kept to his silent observation and it was in that that made Alfred come undone.

Pupils dilated and nostrils flared to take in needed breath. His body tingled at the fire spreading throughout his entire form. The flames licked at his insides, so cool at first, before settling in and growing heated to create sensitivity.

Alfred's eyes closed when he felt the beginnings of an arousal. He tried to staunch it quickly by sitting a certain way, by reaching down to straighten out his clothing that was becoming much too tight for comfort. His thoughts even traveled to visions of cool autumn days or the refreshing springs he used to play in as a child.

Nothing worked.

Apologetically Alfred turned his eyes to the king. The man's expression hadn't changed, but now it seemed more intensified, those eyes taking in his every discomforted movement. A short smiled was even attempted to be offered for his sorry display before the monarch, but Alfred hadn't seen any sign of acceptance from King Ivan.

Now Alfred tried his best to count down the minutes, to wait as much as he could until he could rush out of the carriage and onto the dirt to just breathe. But they certainly weren't anywhere close to his home, nowhere close to stopping, and for now Alfred had to remain in his caged seated agony.

His visions of cool harvest festivals, of snow laden grounds took in the heat of his body and reenacted the images of something akin to those flames licking the insides of his physique. It was of rooms of incense, of pale hands running down his thighs, of soft lips pressing down against his own. Of sheets ruffled, of limbs tangled, and of a heat inside his gut tearing him to pieces until he exploded in white euphoric bliss.

The embarrassment of growing an erection before his majesty made the heat inside Alfred worse. He wanted to utter an apology or to simply disappear, but with the way those eyes held him still, Alfred knew he simply wouldn't be able to get away from their gaze.

"Go ahead." Alfred glanced up, surprised the king to begin speaking. When he noticed the man's own gaze and of the way those violets flicked down toward the direction of Alfred's rising groin, he looked back at him, saying, "Take care of your problem."

Take care of his problem? Alfred wanted to laugh at the comment . . . if only it hadn't been so painstakingly true. But to do such a thing; right then, right there, before _him_? Alfred certainly had his reservations, but when those deep hued eyes looked into his own, holding him in silent command as he had before during their intimate night, Alfred felt his body recall the absolute trill of those orders and willingness to oblige.

And Alfred's body had been tamed by this man. Owned over and over to the point where his limbs would move on their own, as his muscles would react to the tremors of the man's vocals and feel of his gaze. So it had been to no surprise how Alfred's hand had ran fingers down his thigh before brushing his palm over the bump in his trousers.

When Alfred glanced down at his hand, so too had the king, both seeming intent to watch its next action. At first, Alfred tried to will himself to ignore his problem, to even rub himself as a means to settle down, but of course that hadn't worked and right then, before the very king, he found himself easing his tension through the rough motions of his rubbing palm.

Moans bubbled up Alfred's throat. Quite embarrassing sounds that he tried so hard to bite back. The heat inside him was unbearable and his blame navigated toward the king, just like his gaze. However, the moment he looked at the man, his own violet eyes attached to Alfred's azure hues. And Alfred wasn't certain but he felt an interestingly encouraging assurance pass through the sovereign's gaze, a demand of sorts for him to continue.

The sheer intensity overwhelmed Alfred enough for him to rub himself to full rise. He ached now, hunching over in his seat trying to relieve himself from the stress his tight breeches weighed in on his sensitive organ. What was he to do then? His arousal obviously wasn't dying down any time soon, and he certainly couldn't just pop himself out. The indecency of it all.

But . . . as Alfred looked back at the king, he noticed no signs of disproval, and only eyes of encouraging continuance. That deep darkening stare reminded Alfred of the previous night when those eyes remained that shade and looked at him for hours on end. Alfred had . . . liked the stare, felt honored to attract the highest and most powerful man in their kingdom, and right then and there, he couldn't deny his attraction of his own for those eyes upon him.

In a way it felt as Alfred himself was pining, as if he had forgotten his services were no longer required and he was now currently on the road to return to the life he had . . . and the spouse he called his own. But the heat in his gut, the rising atmosphere around him, and those eyes giving only Alfred the attention everyone nearly killed to have . . . it was all just too much and Alfred felt himself swooning in the monarch's presence once more. Aching to please him.

The effect that man now had on him was unfathomable and Alfred's lips parted, letting out a shuddering gasp just at the way he felt right then. His hand slipped into his trousers, bypassing buttons and clasps so he could take hold of himself and create a sort of relief from the restricting pants. Alfred held his eyes upon the king's, glad his own gaze could hold his as much as he could his own. This way Alfred felt it better, this way, Alfred knew the king wouldn't see him pull himself out and stroke himself to the memory of those touches and kisses.

With the king's eyes on his own, Alfred drowned in those deep violet pools, now understanding the heat had come from the sovereign and the way he had made him feel—the way he _still_ made him feel. Moans and groans surged out of parted lips, and yet the king held Alfred's gaze, never once breaking contact even as the peasant's eyes fluttered in pleasure. And Alfred himself struggled to keep the line of sight between them, the silence surrounding mixing with his own bodily noises that grew and grew until it shadowed that of the noises he made the previous night.

All thoughts continued to return to the evening before. Alfred wondered if the king looked back on their shared time with the passion in his gut as it had arisen in his own. This feeling was only understood as the desire Alfred still had—or perhaps it was simply his body—for the man before him. For him to come to him again, and command the way he arched and shivered so to play out the exact same pleasure he had been graced as before.

But even still, even with the desires running high, Alfred continued to stroke himself, horribly happy with the fact he was pleasuring himself to the very physical image of the king before him, and that the monarch allowed him to do it. But it all just wasn't enough. There were no desired caresses, kisses to his skin, and foreign bodily motions. Even at this, Alfred let his own imagination try to substitute for the lack of physical press, his fluttering eyes trying as they will to focus on the man of its desires seated just an arm's reach away.

Alfred hadn't seen it because he was so lost in his thoughts and need to keep eye contact. His head spun too much to even take in the movement; the way the king had reached up and unclasp his ornate cloak, or even how his gloved hands then reached down to unclasp the buckles sealing his heavily priced trousers. The last clasp undone was the lower half of his overlapping coat, and with a flick of his wrist he simply pressed the folds aside. That was the last movement he made before he leaned forward, his eyes still holding Alfred's in place.

And Alfred was ashamed as his hand quickly let go of his cock only for both arms to slide up the king's back, nails scraping over fine thread and powerful shoulder blades. His hips bucked up, eager to meet the king's, and more so that hand that was quick to replace Alfred's own.

His body got what it wanted; lips on skin, another's hand caressing and rubbing. No more could Alfred control the want of his body, and secretly, deep down inside he was praising the king for seeing his struggle and meeting him to appease the flames that now licked at them both.

Alfred had moaned the king's name once. His cry came out in a stuttering gasp when that smoothly gloved hand applied enough pressure. The fabric of King Ivan's gloves felt nice on his pulsing cock, but just not as nice as when those royal lips pressed down on his own.

Fingers curled, pulling at expensive fabric while Alfred's arms tightened their hold on the king just to pull the man flush against him. He thought he might have wanted to return the kiss, but his jaw remained loose from the effect of that hand on his arousal that all he could do was surrender to the sovereign's working lips and pressing tongue that slunk into his mouth, sliding into all too familiar territory.

Alfred's legs had been spread in invitation to the king now pressed between his thighs, but only later did they search for a secure place so that their bodies weren't tussled in the bumpy motions of the carriage. Both of their bodies moved while their lips sought the other's, their bodies seeking a means to stable their forms so that they could properly latch onto the other in intimacy.

When knees locked and the soles of shoes made a stance firm, Alfred then wrapped his legs around the king's waist, now intent to hold himself secure against the older man's body.

Alfred was currently on his way to be returned to his husband and yet he made no complaint as the king wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, as he kissed his breath away and gyrated his pelvis into his own. No, instead of refraining like he should have, instead of politely reclining the king's desires once more, Alfred urged his body to arch back into those touches, to part his lips and take in the tongue seeking to enter his mouth. He moaned as a lover would when their partner evoked sensitive pleasure, and there was no halting the king's ministrations from such welcoming reactions.

In Alfred's more reasonable mind he at least would have known some of his motions would be considered disrespectful in the highest degree. When his fingers pressed up and slunk into the king's hair, scraping over scalp until his fumbling digits knocked over the royal's crown, Alfred should have reached back over and picked it back up . . . but he didn't. When his destination-driven hands then fell down, pulling at the monarch's coat, snapping clasps and ruffling gems and medals and ornate sashes, Alfred knew he should have straightened out his attire right away—because no king should look less presentable, ever—but he didn't. Even when Alfred's hands, on their own, and without certain permission from the king currently lavishing Alfred's mouth with his own, reached down and pulled at the man's waist band, fingers prying apart those trousers to then slink in and grasp the hardening arousal of the king's, Alfred was not reprimanded for any of his actions.

Permission had been given to him to touch the previous night in the king's bed, but right now, they were not in his chambers nor his own bed, and yet Alfred's body acted according to that time once spent, intent on reenacting the same scenario. And the king . . . well, with the way he pressed into Alfred's hand, bucking into his grasp almost enthusiastically while he pulled his mouth away from Alfred's to suck and nip down his revealed neck, it certainly gave the peasant a silent approval to do what he was doing.

The pleas leaving Alfred's lips weren't words to save his dignity. They were phrases to ruin him, to utterly assimilate him to the will of the royal against him. The shame was there, but like previously, it was overridden by the heightened lust bubbling out of his gut and gushing all over his body.

Alfred cried out, probably loud enough for the coachmen to hear him if not even the guardsmen riding along near. But the ringing in his ears, the breathlessness in his lungs, and the tears in his eyes called to his attention, as did the moment when the king penetrated him again.

"AH!" Alfred tossed his head back, the base of his skull colliding with cushion while the king continued to pull apart his layered clothing even after having successfully penetrated him. In fact, his majesty hadn't moved until a reasonable amount of clothing had been pushed aside for him to press close and ease his rhythm. And all Alfred did was open himself, cling to the man while he moved inside him and littered his body with numerous more kisses.

Alfred shivered when lips pressed down upon his pert nipple, suckling and teasing the bud with such a velvety skilled tongue. Despite Alfred's shirt and coat parted and spread, his chest now bare before the king, the heat did not lesson one ounce. Instead it grew and grew, especially with the way the sensations shot up his spine every time the king would press in deeper.

He had tossed his head back and forth, huffing out groans and moans so hotly that he feared he'd pass out from heat override. Once again his bangs stuck to his head from the perspiring sweat seeping out of his skin and sticking his clothing against his body like wet paper. But Alfred wasn't so much focused on his own state as he was the king's. In their haste to feel and to seek pleasure, Alfred's own hands had pulled apart shirt and coat, wanting the feel of bare skin against his own, however the king remained just out of reach, hovering instead of weighing down while he focused to hold their sturdy position in favor of more pleasing thrusts.

And so Alfred reached up, running his hands along pale skin, his fingers rubbing the grooves of the man's muscles before circling around dusty nipples. If the king would not press any closer then Alfred would lean forward, and he did. One arm held around the majesty's back while Alfred pushed himself forward, rolling his hips along with Ivan's that kept them both pleased. It was Alfred's lips now that sought to discolor the monarch's perfect skin. He pulled on the king's collar, unclasping it to let the man breath as well as to give himself room to suckle and to pull at skin with his own teeth.

The feeling of the king arching into his ministrations had brought up a prideful arousal in Alfred and he moaned against King Ivan's neck, blowing hot breath against the pale skin only to lavish it with saliva and the worship of his tongue. Even the vibrations of swallowed moans sent pleasure dripping down the peasant and these reactions only made him cling tighter.

It was a shame how the king never managed to take off his gloves in the heat of the moment, but Alfred wouldn't deny the smooth texture of the fabric felt nice against his bared skin, and he only moaned at the touch of it while Ivan's hands rubbed down his thighs and then up the reddened skin of his cock. The touches made Alfred's body tense and his walls constrict. To hear the king's pleased hums made the corners of Alfred's lips twitch into possible satisfied smiles, and so he continued this control on him even without the strong sensations of the king's caresses.

A spring in the carriage while wheels ran over rougher terrain had the copulating couple shifted. The king's firm ground was lost and both struggled to regain the stance that held their foundation. Instead, when they shifted again, it was to press Alfred back onto the cushioned seat, his legs holding onto the king's waist while he maneuvered over him. There wasn't much room this way, but in this position, their bodies were a little closer to being laid out, and so Alfred chanced reaching up and taking hold of the golden crest necklace perched upon the king's shoulders and pulling him down by it. Their lips connected and their breasts brushed just the way Alfred wanted them to.

Alfred didn't care about the kink in his neck, nor how his legs bent to keep from popping out of the other side window. All he wanted was to feel the king on top of him, to have his tongue in his mouth, and to have his hips rolling against his own while a deeper pressing cock stroked the sensitive areas inside him until his own arousal could take no more.

Alfred's eyes clenched shut, his teeth biting into his bottom lip as he came undone at the near same moment the king had. It had been the king's hand that kept a firm press over Alfred's penis and prevented his orgasm from splattering all over their clothing, but the monarch was not so considerate of his want to fill Alfred's insides with his own ejaculation. And it was as he rolled his hips to milk himself for every pleasurable tingle that Alfred felt the dread of returning home.

The peasant groaned at the amount emptied into him and he knew what a mess it would make when the king pulled himself out. But he remained still for a moment, pressed over Alfred as if to catch his breath. An exhaustion had fallen over Alfred then, almost content in a way. It was understood the king had felt the same when he leaned down and offered a kiss, pressing his passion deep into it and stealing Alfred's soul.

The kiss held for a long time, fingers reached up to caress cheeks, chin, and forehead, brushing bangs off sticky brows while eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of the shared intimacy. When it broke, so too did the king lean away, pulling himself away from Alfred. However, Alfred just laid there for a moment, eyes staring up at the carriage ceiling to take a moment to marvel at the artwork etched into the royal carriage as well as to dwell on the situation he had so shamelessly thrown himself in.

The jingle of jewels and medals had Alfred turn his head. The king was seated back where he was before, just across from him, now fixing himself as much as he could. Alfred had pulled loose a few clasps and buttons, but, for the most part, the king easily fixed his appearance to near what it once was. His last action was picking up his toppled crown and seating it evenly upon the crown of head.

The monarch then reached over and opened the windows to let the light inside as well as the cool wind. Both of them took in the feel of the cool breeze fading over their skin and it was in this that coaxed Alfred into a more relaxed state. However, he needed to sit up again and fix his own attire.

He groaned when he sat up, shifting his hips and wincing at the feel of the stretch between his legs. This time, there were no servants to offer him assistance, and he wasn't about to glance toward the sovereign to silently ask of him for a hand.

Reaching up, Alfred rubbed at his sore neck, keeping his groans at the ache to himself while his other hand worked to pull his shirt and coat together. Even still he wasn't sure on how everything went, after all, it was the servants that dressed him and so he looked quite the fool while trying to figure out which button went where, and what flap folded over what part of his garment. It had been when the king reached out, leaning forward and taking up the task himself that Alfred had set his eyes on the monarch.

He was surprised to see him help him, but there seemed to be a pleasant facial expression on his features while he pulled together Alfred's clothing. Another thing Alfred had not expected was how the king had pulled out a towel from a compartment, pressing the clean cloth between his legs and wiping up as much evidence of their copulation as possible. It was from this then that Alfred's breeches were pulled up his legs and fastened back around his waist without the worry of their ruin.

Alfred should have shied away from the king's touches, knowing that it was his duty to fix himself or that of a servant, but he remained still, his eyes upon the king's face until his own eyes turned upon him and connected gazes. A short smile was caught on pale lips before the monarch leaned forward further and pressed one last kiss upon Alfred's lips. Alfred might have melted into that shared one as well hadn't the weight of something pressing down upon his shoulders called for his eyes to open and turn to see.

Alfred silently gasped at the sight of the king's necklace laying over his shoulders, the pendant of the royal crest pressed against his breast. Alfred touched it for a moment, marveling at the sheer brilliance of the piece of jewelry before glancing up toward the king. It was not right that he take this. This decoration belonged upon the neck of a royal, not a peasant dressed as so.

But with a pressing finger against Alfred's tanned lips he was shushed. King Ivan held his smile, glancing down toward the necklace before keeping his gaze upon Alfred's eyes.

"Keep it," he bade. "For the complimentary you so willingly offered."

A flush crossed Alfred's cheeks once before the cool breeze from outside washed the heat from his face. He had been lost in his mind after that and he hadn't known if it were mere moments later or hours when their transportation came to a halt and one of the coachman jumped off the carriage and opened the door for Alfred to exit.

Turning, Alfred viewed the sight of his little shack. Sure enough, there was Arthur, standing outside and waiting for his return. His heart swelled at the sight of the man, but his attention pulled from him when the carriage curtain had closed once more, hiding the presence of the king.

Alfred looked at him one last time. He felt he had something he wanted to say, but he wasn't so certain on what it was. But when he exited the carriage and managed to stand stably on his own two feet he understood that he felt regretful.

The coachmen had in turn brought out the chest of coin and handed it to Alfred before bidding him a farewell. And, just like that, they left. The life Alfred had only but tasted on the tip of his tongue was now gone from him . . . probably forever, and he hated himself for feeling so missed from it.

"Alfred."

The man turned at the say of his name. Arthur was standing near him, but not enough for him to reach out and touch. The older man looked unsure of what to do, those green eyes taking in the attire Alfred was adorned in with marvel and curiosity. It even took some time before Alfred realized he was holding something.

In his want to embrace his husband, Alfred put the chest of coin down and then held out his arms for his spouse. He could see the tears bubble up in Arthur's eyes as a smile broke his uncertain frown. The man threw himself at Alfred, latching onto him and holding him tight.

"God, I missed you, Alfred!"

Alfred smiled at the exclamation, but with his husband embracing him, it encouraged him to do the same and he finally felt content with the smaller man pressed against his bosom.

"I did too, Arthur." He really did, but he never felt he'd continue in this feeling even after he had been returned home.

Arthur pulled back, his gaze taking in more of his handsome spouse while he wiped the tears from his eyes. "I couldn't sleep at all last night and hoped you well." His hands ran over Alfred's chest, marveling at the feel of the fabric he was dressed in. "My God, they took care of you. I had thought that maybe . . . perhaps he was cruel, and then I knew it would be my fault that I . . . what is this, Alfred?" Arthur's eyes zoned in on the necklace on him and picked up the pendant etched with the royal crest.

"He gave it to me," Alfred said lightly, his tone dying even as he finished, saying, "for my services."

When Arthur's eyes glanced up toward him no words were spoken. The older simply clamped his mouth shut and nodded in understanding. No doubt this subject would be hard to share between the couple.

Letting go, Alfred knelt down, trying to hide his discomfort so he could pick up the chest. Arthur immediately took notice and grabbed Alfred's hands, pulling them close and kissing his knuckles. "No, allow me, love." He was the one to pick up the chest, not even caring to open it while he urged Alfred back into their home with a gentle smile that Alfred always loved seeing, now more so than ever. "Now, tell me what it was like inside the palace."

Alfred smiled back, eager to share with his husband all the sights he had seen. At least they could still talk to one another like they had before.

Indeed Alfred and Arthur were still close and had allowed to mend their drifting relationship due to Alfred being able to quit his work at the docks and spend more time with him. However, even as they used the money to buy a full pantry and better made furniture to furnish their home, as well as other necessities, their intimate life had not grown back to what it used to be, or, actually, to how Alfred wanted it to be. They had tried, after a while, Alfred had tried to coax his husband to mount him, and Arthur obliged with his request but the end result left so much to be desired that it not only hurt their switched roles, but it had Alfred shying away from his husband's touch, his body already having felt the brush of skill and experience and finding inadequate gestures from Arthur.

Even with that, if Arthur so wished for intimacy, Alfred would not deny him. Their luster in the bedroom had waned, and neither spoke about it because both knew it was both their faults for its sudden drop of passion. They simply kept to martial kisses and embraces, finding their romance through simplicity.

That wasn't to say that neither had desired the flames of their passion to ignite again. Both yearned for the other's embrace, but dreaded the dissatisfaction in the end. The upset drove Arthur to drink, now having enough money to purchase booze. Alfred hated him when he was drunk and tried to ween him off of the strong drink, so he hid their coin for a long enough time until they were near in the poverty state as they had been before.

Once Arthur was forced to become sober, Alfred pulled the coin out and purchased the things they needed instead. In the end, they both decided to remain out in the country, and only modified their home enough to not let their thieving neighbors take note of their riches. The high-end styles and foods were put off for the both of them for simple living as well as comfort.

But as they used their received coin in earnest frivol, each time they passed off the royally stamped coins both were reminded of where the money came from and on how it was required. Alfred had once wanted to sell his given necklace just to push away the memories. He kept it though from sheer politeness. It had been one of the first treasures that he hid, and even after bringing back the coin after his husband had returned to sobriety he kept the necklace out of his sight, hidden away so that maybe one day he too would forget about it.

A reminder and reason to have taken the chance and moved into the estates of at least the middleclass came in the form of a terrible plague. It came in through a smaller kingdom off to their eastern borders. It traveled swiftly, taking as many lives as it could until action was taken and citizens who tried fleeing the disease were banished from touching the clean walls of cities and towns.

The higher-ups waited until all was calm, and all was quiet with death. After it was certain the plague had choked itself out the city gates opened and helped any survivor. But there were few.

Cleanup took a long time, there were bodies in various forms of decay all over the land, and it was too much of a hassle to offer them graves and tombstones. No, the safer route was to burn them.

Mass mounds of bodies were lit aflame and every victimized body charred to ash while uncaring haulers and pyros continued on their business. The plague certainly dwindled many a country's population, though many of the citizens dead were simple paupers or homeless ones. They wouldn't be missed, and their near eradication was seen as a blessing in disguise.

But even for those in the upper-class who cared nothing for the poor souls underneath them, the reminder of what had happened to them arose in the air. Black smoke held over many of the kingdoms for days and even weeks on end. It was those wretched souls one last attempt to bring those birthed into luxury to look at them.

No one did, however.

If they wouldn't cry for the loss of a large portion of citizens, then it was up to their loved ones to mourn their loss . . . at least the ones who survived. Alfred had cried all he could after his husband was taken by the plague. The regret from not taking the chance to move the both of them into the city sat heavily on his shoulders every day since Arthur had gotten sick.

Alfred was more disheartened that he hadn't caught the illness and joined his spouse in the afterlife. He had nothing without him. And the spot where he buried their chest of coin was all forgotten the moment Arthur was taken from him and his home burned to the ground.

At first he tried to blind himself with watching everything he once loved burn to the ground, but his small home and Arthur's thin body burned too quickly until the cleaners moved on, off to burn another estate that no one cared about. So now he just sat and stared at char, for days he remained, neglecting his need to eat and his need to sleep.

It was quiet now. There were no more moans of the dying, nor cries of sorrow because everyone around was dead. Alfred was quite jealous and so very upset. If there was one person whom deserved to perish in this sick act by God then it was him, but it seemed he had cursed himself more than he realized.

But, there were other ways of dying. Starvation was the next thing Alfred attempted. He was hungry. It had been days since had last eaten anything. He'd have to wait a little longer before he perished from malnutrition, but he could wait.

It was the waiting that had gotten to him, however. Day after day and night after night his regret over the life he had with Arthur gutted him until he couldn't breathe. His regret over not moving the both of them into city walls was highest, but so was the sorrow over the memory of their fading intimacy. Alfred regretting keeping his hands away from Arthur for so long. He hadn't even the chance to kiss the man before he perished from the plague.

A regret over having nothing left over hurt Alfred even more. Not a lock of hair, not a stitched pillow or even one of those damn burnt scones Alfred hated and yet loved so much. It made Alfred cry until he couldn't produce any more tears.

After the absolute misery of the longing for his spouse passed over Alfred the memories of extravagant living came to mind. Even though it had only been a day, Alfred was reminded of his wish to return to such a life, and his once want to be accepted into that kind of a society. Perhaps he still could. He remembered where he had hidden the coin.

The pull from those thoughts urged Alfred to unbury the hidden chest he kept out by the oak tree. It was nothing but a stump now. _Everything_ was burned when the cleaners made their way through. But when he uncovered the chest, it was as it used to be and still heavy laden with coin.

Alfred opened the box, his eyes catching firstly onto the necklace he was once given. Alfred picked it up and sat beside the stump of the charred tree. He stared at the jewelry in his hand for a moment, living inside his head and the memories that were there.

As of then he recalled the king, and as of then Alfred knew he to be one of the higher class who still sat in their luxury homes, eating and drinking, not even understanding what had happened to those who lived outside their comfortable walls.

Alfred dropped the necklace and it fell heavily back into the chest. Sucking in hard breaths Alfred took up the chest and tossed it, scattering the coins. He didn't care for them anymore. They were of no use to him. And besides . . . it wasn't like anyone would come around and steal them. All the thieves were dead.

And that was all Alfred wanted to be as well. So he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the black stump, closing his eyes and night fell, hoping for some mercy to be given to him that he may perish in his sleep. Though, his dreams were pleasant; full of the memory of his husband, and the precious times they shared. In the end those dreams faded and the visions of gold and silver and foods stacked from afar clogged Alfred's head.

He twitched in his sleep, wrapping his arms around his shivering form as the chill of the night bit into him. So his dreams took him to a warm bed, and a body that evoked a heat inside him that could never be put out except by this man's commanding voice and gaze. Touches, kisses, everything that a distraught heart needed to survive. These dreams were conjured by a heart in despair and longing, and Alfred knew he would die in these feelings, only seeing it fit because he believed Arthur had died with the same internal agony.

Even as the sun rose, Alfred forced his eyes to remain closed. He had not died in his sleep that night and so he willed his body to remain in perpetual slumber in hopes to aide it into shutting down. But there was just too many distractions. The noise from birds overhead made Alfred groan, the snapping of broken char giving way had the peasant trying to cover his ears. But, certainly, what annoyed him the most was the sound of cleaners.

He opened his eyes, glaring at nothing while keeping his back to the road. He had thought they were done sweeping this place. Hm, perhaps they had returned to give his body a proper burning. Alfred was certain he was dead enough to entice them to strike up the flint.

So he kept still, even as they approached him. He didn't want their time, only if they were going to put an end to his misery, which he highly doubted they'd offer.

"He looks dead."

Their upper class accent caught Alfred by surprise. The previous cleaners hadn't had such rich and smooth voices.

"No, he isn't."

Alfred finally turned, rolled over and looked up. For a brief moment his eyes squinted at the forms standing in the sun, but when his dull eyes focused they widened all the more. These were not cleaners. His ears had definitely caught right the sound of the higher class.

One was a coachman, and the other . . .

Alfred's cracked lips parted. He leaned up on his elbow even as the monarch leaned over where he lay, bending ever so slightly while holding a strange expression on his face.

"I had a feeling you would survive the outbreak," King Ivan spoke up. The man looked healthy, almost exactly the same since Alfred had last seen him. What surprised Alfred the most was just seeing him, especially out there where they were. "It is a shame you hadn't moved you and your spouse closer to the city. I understand that he has passed."

Alfred's eyes fluttered with tears he thought he could no longer produce. His breath hitched, the making of sobs wishing to shudder out of his chest.

The king hadn't said anything after. Instead he turned his eyes toward the charred remains of the home and land around. There was absolutely nothing left.

"The city is offering shelter for any who survived." The king looked back toward Alfred. "It is best you move on from here."

Alfred coughed out a sob, his hand coming up to rub at his burning eyes. "I don't belong in the city." Alfred knew he didn't. He just couldn't make a life for himself there, not after losing the love of his life.

"I can assure you, you and the other survivors will be treated fairly, housed and even given work permits." It seemed ideal, like a hopeful situation to anyone listening, but Alfred wasn't accepting any of it. Instead he just wanted to lay back down and wait for his death. Even with the king standing before him in all his majestic glory, Alfred wanted to turn his gaze away.

"I don't want to work." All Alfred wanted really was to work for his end, not the means to sustain his empty pitiful existence.

"Then you mean to waste away? How miniscule an end would that be, Alfred?"

Alfred flinched when the king said his name. It had been a while since he heard that accented voice call him by name, and already it was working up emotions inside him that he just didn't want to feel.

"As lowly as I wish," Alfred replied, glancing down and running his fingers through the grassless dirt. "No one cared when people began dying, and no one cared when Arthur fell to the plague as well." He looked at the king then, narrowed red watery eyes meeting an evenly held gaze. "And no one will care when I'm gone."

There was a silence to leave Alfred to his pity. And, after a moment, the king spoke up. "I have lost countless countrymen and I would like it to not lose any more. Your death would displease me greatly."

Oh, it would, would it? Alfred glared at the king, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. The weakness in his bones coming out to make Alfred's movement more sluggish and heavy. He tried to sit up, but only found himself leant against the tree stump, clinging onto it like the last lifeline he was holding onto.

"You have my word of care when you come into the city," the king said. "Is there anything else you wish of me to entice you to heed my words?"

Alfred was silent, keeping his gaze upon the king while the monarch mulled over his thoughts.

"If you are wishing I assist you, then I can," the king spoke up again. "But I will require certain services firstly before coming to offer any sort of payment."

Alfred caught the twitch of a smile and the deepening hue of the sovereign's irises. Oh, what memory evoking those expressions did. It made Alfred sit up straighter, it made his arms stiffen as they reached out while his hands suddenly clasped onto the train of the monarch's garb.

"Keep your damn money!" Alfred found himself gasping out, the tears in his eyes in need of someone to wipe them away, and right now, his body called out for the man whom he once shared intimate embraces with to do just that. "I'll spend every night with you if only you allow me to remain close to you."

The last desire of Alfred was spoken. He was dead without it.

Alfred didn't care if he was kicked down. He didn't care if he was denied, because he was certain that was what he wanted the most secondly. But, instead, another breathless gasp left his mouth when he felt arms wrap around his weak frame and hoist him up, pressing him against a gem encrusted bosom.

Alfred's wide eyes were upon the king who had touched him, who had tossed all care of his poor wretched dirtied state to kneel down and take him up into his arms. The man was strong, but then again, Alfred had lost a lot of weight during the weeks the plague went rampant and so he must have felt like a feather within the king's arms. Such a strong embrace had lulled Alfred to rest his inner turmoil and physical woes, especially when he was engulfed in the king's scent, his own wide eyes taking in the smile now etching its way on the monarch's features.

The king turned, his legs moving, form marching back toward his awaiting carriage and escort, but his eyes kept on Alfred as the peasant's did him. With his gloved hand he reached up, letting his fingers run over hallowed cheeks and then up through grime-filled hair. The motion was affectionate, keeping Alfred in a surprised state, even as the king said,

"It was that answer that I was waiting for."


End file.
